


i'm just a fool (but i love you, baby)

by aw marvel no (getoffmysheets)



Series: Lovers and Fools [1]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Everybody's Fucked Up Y'All, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, F/M, Fan Soundtracks, M/M, Multi, Musical References, Peter Is Everyone's Son, Song Lyrics, Soulmates, Tony Stark Feels, Wanda Is Everyone's Daughter, all of them - Freeform, everybody needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-03-16 16:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 52,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13640103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getoffmysheets/pseuds/aw%20marvel%20no
Summary: Each person has a song and that song has its kindred match. But Tony knows that he has at least three kindred on his team. He's nobody's favorite, but he's glad to be on friendly terms again.Also Known As: "Steve Rogers Discovers the Internet and Then...There's An Orgy?"





	1. echoes

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who'd like to listen along with the presented songs, they are listed in the end notes in case of spoilers. Yes, I know, I should be working on "to live with thee". I'm telling myself I can multitask (lies, all lies). 
> 
> You'll notice there's no reference to Clint Barton's "family" anywhere in this story because that never happened and you won't convince me otherwise.

The music had always been there. It could describe oneself, one's spirit, the spirit of someone kindred to you. It has many names, but Tony's mother calls it an Echo.

 

In the days of early man, meditation and herbal substances could be used to draw the user into a trance-like state to hear it. As humanity evolved, a favored object would sometimes carry the basic echoes of melodies when held. Phonographs and records were invented, and a simple tune could be played when someone placed a hand on one with a blank record on the turn table.

 

Howard Stark changed that in the late 50's, with the invention of the Electrosoul Swing Machine. Howard's machine – the ESM – can pick up a person's brainwave patterns and produce music based on the information it finds. The first iterations of the ESM are comparably crude, creating a basic song with tinny vocals.

 

It is now 2018 and while most homes don't _have_ the ESM Millennium for personal use, most of the developed world has at the very least seen and used one. They know their souls and the souls of their kindred. But only Avengers Tower has EUTERPE.

 

EUTERPE was a project Tony worked as a teenager when he started becoming interested in AI's, after Howard had created the ESM Platinum in the mid-70's and written it off for no longer holding his focus. While EUTERPE was not on the same level as JARVIS or FRIDAY, dwelling somewhere in the vague space between Karen and the bots, she is still nothing less than a masterpiece.

 

Tony hears EUTERPE play his own song for him at the age of fifteen – about the usual age for these things. Any earlier than that and most people wouldn’t get anything more than a handful of garbled notes.

 

Howard rolls his eyes at him and thinks it's soft and a bit pathetic.

 

Maria squeezes his shoulder and tells him that it's sweet.

 

He checks the archives for a psychological profile written for it – most libraries have a book of basic profiles based on one's Echo, with thousands of entries – and after reading it once, never goes looking again.

 

His other Echoes, the ones that are supposed to describe his future soulmate – or his case, _soulmates_ – number at three by the time he's twenty. (“How many do you need?”, “Do you just give yourself away to the first people to be nice to you?”). As a young and frightened teenager at MIT, he spends a lot of time listening to those four songs on repeat, letting the music comfort him during the long hours holed up by himself.

 

Before his parents have even passed away, Tony has stopped listening, sick of his father's criticism.

 

The sounds EUTERPE can produce are crystal clear, high definition, and she can combine it with visual effects and holograms. At her most sophisticated, she can even, with a pair of users, combine their two psychological patterns to form a new song. Tony, while young and dumb and drunk all the time, had loved to use this feature as a party trick because her programming was designed to treat this interaction as a game, with one partner 'winning' the strange conversation to become the song's 'voice' and EUTERPE would show this internal debate in a show of clashing colors around them.

 

He's careful even when young and dumb and drunk all the time not to let anyone hear his song, his main Echo, and he doesn't even bother listening to the others anymore. Even so, he begins to see a pattern with the songs he engages in...

 

“Tony, why aren't you playing?” Wanda asks, gesturing to the laughing group lounging around the plush couches surrounding the stage. She approaches him almost timidly, as though afraid to come much nearer. Darcy and Thor each have a palm over EUTERPE's special 'crystal ball' interface, while AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck” plays all around them, shaking the room with the force of the bass and drums. Darcy is electric blue, while Thor is a searing gold, the colors burning bright in harmony with each other. 

 

He chuckles, waving the scotch he's been nursing all night, hardly taking more than a sip. “Somebody's gotta be the DJ, Little Witch. EUTERPE is great, but this is a handsy bunch, and she's delicate equipment.”

 

In the old days, days of nameless blurry faces, it would have been fun and easy to join them. But these people really knew him and two of these people are spies for a living. He's not dumb enough believe no one will pick up the pattern sooner rather than later. Barnes and Noble aren't quite 'with the times' enough to know many song titles yet, but he's certain that Natasha and Wilson at least would probably pick it up in just a few songs.

 

Considering how paranoid this group is, Tony not offering to play his Echo for them isn't even unusual. Again, Rogers and Hammerstein are too behind the times to realize that it's now socially acceptable to ask about. Peter is too in awe of him to risk his displeasure by requesting a demonstration. Clint, Natasha, and Bruce hold their own cards too close to their chests to invite those questions onto themselves. Lang and Wilson are too busy conspiring to make off with half of his liquor cabinet, presumably without him noticing (no chance there, especially with Rhodey on guard). Darcy, Thor's mock-date for the night, is totally hammered, and with whatever is inside that flask he keeps drinking from, the big man is not far behind.

 

...Which left Wanda.

 

“Will you play a round with me?”

 

Tony hesitated. With the return of Cap's team and the renegotiation of the Accords, everyone has definitely been on cooperative, if not necessarily friendly, terms.

 

He would never say that Wanda was hostile, and her behavior towards everyone here had been nothing but warm tonight, but Tony had sort of assumed that she was mostly indifferent towards him. Her and Vision no longer seemed inclined to build the relationship they'd started. She was closest Clint, who was the tough love master, and Steve, who rather uncharacteristically seemed a bit more inclined to coddle her. Apparently he was mistaken because here the young lady was, looking very hopeful.

 

He reminds himself that it won't be anything bad. He has to have faith in that. It will still have to follow the stupid fucking Rule, because Tony had long ago accepted that he didn't have a choice about that, but he has to believe that it wouldn't come out awful and cynical or – dear god forbid! – blatantly sexual.

 

It won't be bad, no, but joining Echoes with someone can sometimes be uncomfortably revealing.

 

“Sure, cupcake, let's do it.” The way her face brightens makes this anxiety worth it.

 

Sam and Steve were finishing up their own song, Sam's cool graphite gray easily overpowering the cobalt blue of Steve in the center of the interface console. Steve looks amused as Sam dances around, mouthing the lyrics happily and shimmying in a taunting manner. It suited them well, as it was supposed to. Not for the first time, Tony finds himself wondering why the fuck he'd allowed Howard and Obie to talk him into weapons manufacturing – because he _loved_ this part, watching people interact with his creations and seeing it make them happy. There were few things he loved more.

 

“ _Call on me, brother, if you need a hand..."_

 

The song ends and Clint claps enthusiastically – just enough to hover on the edge of mocking, of course – and that allowed Tony and Wanda to step up to the console. It was a large black pillar, with the half of a big black sphere set in the center. It was here that they each placed a hand. The center of the pillar began swirling with color – Tony's flashy erratic scarlet and Wanda's more sedate, dignified burgundy. As he knew was likely, she was overcome almost immediately. For whatever reason, younger users tended to lose their voice if playing with someone who had greater than a decade of age on them. Not a hard and fast rule, like his One Rule, but definitely a trend.

 

He nearly collapsed with relief as EUTERPE played the opening chords. _Oh good. This is good._

 

_“If I was the sun...way up there, I'd go with love most everywhere.”_

Tony grins, aware that they're being watched now.

 

He was a sullen, gangly teenager when he first heard the tune and he remembers refusing his mother's request over and over again. “Dance?”

Perplexed, she gives a short nod. _“I'll be the moon when the sun goes down, just to let you know that I'm still around. That's how strong my love is – whoa!”_

They do a nice gentle turn and sway, nothing complicated. She relaxes into the motions, apparently realizing that this isn't a seduction. It isn't that kind of song, not for him. He swallows. He may as well admit it. Tony's paternal care is practically wallpapered all over the room at this point. “My mom won every time we played too – it was my first combo test when I built EUTERPE. This very same song.”

 

_“I'll be the weeping willow drowning in my tears, and you can go swimming when you're here. And I'll be the rainbow after the tears are gone...wrap you in my colors and keep you warm.”_

 

“Oh,” she says quietly, and then relaxes even more,  surprising Tony by leaning into his shoulder. “Oh...”

 

_“That's how strong my love is, darling...”_

 

“Don't worry, it's a happy memory.” He pets her hair a little, wonders if Maria felt this. Hates that he refused to let her dance with him to this very song, twenty-odd years ago.

 

“That doesn't mean you don't miss her,” she said giving him a tentative squeeze, letting herself be pulled into the lyrics.

 

_“I'll be the ocean so deep and wide and catch the tears whenever you cry. I'll be the breeze after the storm is gone, to dry your eyes and love you warm...”_

Wanda thinks about her own father and mother, and the way she blamed this very man for their deaths. It was a caricature in her mind more than a man, really. The real man is dangerous, yes, but kind and protective and stubborn and childish and wonderfully mad. And he just admitted to her that he loves her, the way he'd love his own child. A single tear escapes as she feels Tony run his hand through her hair. Wanda hears his voice, hardly more than a breath against her temple, singing along for her: “That's how strong my love is, baby...that's how strong my love is...”

The song ends and although it's quiet, she still hears “Thanks, cupcake.”

Wanda quickly swipes at her eyes and gives a watery smile. “Thank _you,_ Tony, I-"

Unfortunately for Tony, he is facing the wrong direction when there is a clatter over by the liquor cabinet, where Peter has allowed Scott to see some of his web-shooters – something that if Tony had been watching, would not have been permitted and Scott probably knows that. He presses a button on the shooter and falls backwards with surprise at the wad of sticky substance that blasts out. Bucky flinches and barks “ _Down!”,_ Steve automatically obeys, Tony pushes Wanda aside, and the mass of goo pins him to the center of console on his right side from his forearm to his fingertips. EUTERPE powers up at the contact, reading his brainwaves.

 

“Peter!” he hisses “Get me out of this goddamn thing! NOW!”

 

“I'm sorry, Mr Stark!” Peter squeaks. “It's the extra hold fluid!”

 

If he was hoping to escape this fate, Tony is too late. Scarlet ribbons swirl within the pillar of the lower console and with a stomach of cold dread, he hears Etta James sighing to the room: _“I wanna a Sunday kind of love...a love to last…past...Saturday night! And I'd like to know...it's more than love…at first sight...I wanna Sunday kind of love...”_

 

An Echo more than anything can tell you what kind of person someone is. Someone who favors pop is probably bright, friendly, and maybe a little superficial. Blues? Prone to depression, quirky, very creative. R&B? Charming, mellow, a people person, and maybe a bit of a player. Metal? Rebellious, enthusiastic, dedicated, probably some anger or issues with authority figures. Most people – and tabloids – tended to pin him with one of the last two. Oh, if they only knew...

 

Love songs were infamous for two reasons: they could be found inside virtually every genre ever created but they were also almost universally mocked. Needy. Clingy. Silly. Boring. Overrated. And those were some of the more charitable descriptions he'd heard.

 

Tony spends the song bent over the console, wishing the floor would swallow him whole while Peter tries to locate materials to use as a dissolver. He has his forehead pressed to the block of dark fiberglass when he hears the familiar pounding of the drums, the equally familiar voice. Goddamn it, he forgets how short the older songs can be. He can't look, he doesn't want to know if his guess is right.

 

He'd figured out years ago that his other Echoes belonged to three of the people in this very room and wouldn't doubt if that number had grown in the years since he’d last heard them. He had fairly great guesses as to their identities, but he'd never tried to find out for sure and this was _not_ the way he wanted to check his work. He wouldn't say that his team all _hate_ him (now he knows that Wanda carries no hard feelings) but he knows that he is definitely no one's favorite teammate apart from maybe Peter, which has more to do with being the first to meet him than any real virtue of his.

 

_“I followed my heart into the fire, got burned…got broken…down by desire...”_

Tony can hear Scott's voice over the hard beat of the drums “Wait a sec, that sounds like – ow!”

The question cuts off with a yelp and Tony feels sick. Shit, if Scott has picked up on it, he has no doubts that several other guests have as well.

After all, the evidence is all around them, vibrating the walls as Natasha's voice cries “ _This is my kiss good-bye! You can stand alone and watch me fly!”_

 

The chords for the third song start by the time Peter has gathered all of his materials for the dissolver. _“There are loved ones...in the glory...”_

 

Steve, somewhere close by “Is that...normal...now?”

 

“What is?” Clint asks softly.

 

“Having...having more than one extra Echo?”

 

“Yeah. I mean it's not like, super common or anything, but it's normal.”

 

Barnes is barely audible, but Tony can still make out the words. “They don't consider it a sin anymore, pal. They don't punish them for that now."

 

God, how awful is that? No wonder Howard was such a fucking prick about it.

Bruce begins helping Peter set up and somewhere behind him, he can hear Wanda sobbing as the female singer's vocals – already pleasantly low and hoarse with feeling – cracks and goes huskier, becoming more emotional with every line. “ _...and you think of...tearful partings...when they left you...here...below...”_

Over his shoulder, he can hear Bruce quietly say “Peter, I'll take over from here. I think it's time for Thor and Darcy to get to bed. Why don't you and Scott take them to his floor? The fewer people in here, the smaller a risk of someone bumping into us as I mix this.”

 

Thank god for Bruce Banner.

 

“I'm sending you the bill for this suit, Lang,” Tony yells, still face down at the console.

 

Then Sam says “Come on, baby girl, don't cry. Come help me make sure Darcy doesn't throw up all over herself and one of Stark's fancy guest beds.”

 

Oh, Christ now he has to be nice to Wilson, too.

 

“That's it, Wilson's my favorite,” he says, trying for a weak joke. “The rest of you are dead to me.”

 

Despite the smaller number of people, Tony still vibrates with tension as the guitar strings sound at the opening of the fourth song. The last song, as far as he knows, and the only one he has with a male voice. He can't take the waiting anymore. “Brucie, baby, darling, please do me a favor and hurry the fuck up.”

 

Steve and Clint drag one of the end tables nearby so that Bruce can begin mixing the components. _“Seen him running through the night...”_

 

Bruce carries himself rigidly, movements slow and methodical as he starts blending the chemicals together. His dark eyes are tight. No, no, no, this not how he wanted to do this...He at least wanted to have a choice, damn it! “I would, but I'm trying to make sure the dissolvant works on removing the fluid instead of permanently attaching the console to your body, Tony.”

 

George Ezra murmurs _“...maybe I may learn to walk...”_

 

“Faster, Bruce.”

 

His eyes are amazon-green as Bruce says “Tony, do _me_ a favor – shut up. Seriously, if my hand shakes right now you could be missing some arm hair or some arm.”

 

“I'm sure Barnes will let me into the club,” he snarks, then curls up his other arm over the interface and buries his head in it. He manages to block out the rest of the song and the whispers around him by praying that this is the end of the experience.

 

It isn't.

 

The room vibrates with the blast of guitars.

 

_“Need a new lo-ove? Well, I'm ready! Want my time? I got you, darlin'...yeah...”_

The voice – Tony has two male songs now, apparently – growls its way through blues guitar riffs, which he normally would have really enjoyed under any other set of circumstances.

 

_"I'm the one, who's gonna show...when there's nobody...I'll be your man, yeah...I'll be your man."_

But it then somehow gets worse.

“It's finished, just hold still.” He sees the light at the end of the tunnel. Later, he's going to realize that this will make the experience that much more excruciating.

_“Buck,” **WHAT?!**_ _“You're a whole lotta man...”_

Even Bruce was startled. “Did that just say...?”

_“Just take a look at your great big hands..._ ”

“Get on with it, Bruce,” he snarled, flushed from forehead to collar. No, it couldn't really have said-

_“I say…Buck! So **sweet** is your back,” _ Nina Simone purrs. _“I like to wash you...and kiss you when you're wet...”_

“Jesus Christ, _kill me_ ,” he hisses, hiding his face back into the free arm. He can feel his cheeks flushing even harder. What kind of fucking cosmic joke is this? 

_“Gentle oh so gentle are the things you do...Gentle oh so gentle are the things you do...”_

“You're good, Tony.”

He jerks away from the platform, unwilling to find out if more horrors awaited him. He stumbles directly into Bruce, who manages to keep both of them from landing on the floor, accidentally making eye contact with Bucky who is standing across the room, out of reach from anyone else. Interestingly enough, his face looks nearly as red as Tony's feels.

 

There's no way to even deny it, no getting away from the hard truth left ringing through the room. The song literally called James Buchanan Barnes by name.

 

"Now that I've become the evenings entertainment, I think I'll just show myself the fuck out."

 

Tony can’t remember feeling this humiliated in his entire life. All of them, every single of one them in the same room and he couldn't even hide from the cold reality of it. Who needs  _five_ soulmates? Whose that desperate for love, they can't be satisfied with just one or even two?

 

Who clings to five people who won't ever even like him?

 

He turns and marches from the room, jaw set in anger. Behind him, he hears Clint say "Well, shit" just before he slams the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Thunderstruck” by AC/DC, “Lean on Me” by Bill Withers, “That's How Strong My Love Is” by Otis Redding, “A Sunday Kind of Love” by Etta James, “Set It All Free” by Scarlett Johannson, “Will The Circle Be Unbroken?” by Courtnee Draper, “Angry Hill” by George Ezra, “I'll Be Your Man” by The Black Keys, and “Buck” by Nina Simone.


	2. sunday, sunday

Admittedly, he’s expecting one of them to say _something._ He’s certain it’ll be something derogatory or at least mildly snotty, but he isn’t expecting everyone to just ignore it. By seemingly unanimous decision, none of them mention it again.

 

That hurts more, in a way.

 

Don’t they even care? But Tony decides to count himself lucky this time. He doesn’t doubt that the team have guessed about Natasha and Bucky as the two of them are pretty undeniable – after all, it’s her voice and his name – but surely the others _know_ their own songs when they hear them?

 

Tony isn’t _one_ _hundred_ percent sure of the others…just ninety percent sure.

 

This would be so much easier if they hadn’t all been on Cap’s team in their little dispute. Bruce wasn’t, but only on a technicality – they all knew he wouldn’t agreed to the Accords, and Natasha was only with him because she saw the strategic advantages of it, or at least she did in the very beginning.

 

But he eventually relaxes, happy to pretend that they’re all as ignorant as they were before. Unknown to Tony, that doesn’t necessarily mean that everyone was actually ignoring it.

 

In retrospect, giving a hundred-year-old super soldier internet access and a tablet was probably not a great idea for a lot of reasons, and not just that he could search through song lyrics.

\---

It was late, and alien bugs were gross, and Steve should be sleeping, but he couldn’t stop thinking about that night in the game room. He was eating his third cold pizza and scrolling through news articles on an SI tablet in his empty kitchen when the inspiration struck him. He types ‘I wanna Sunday kind of love’ into the search bar and the lyrics results come in.

  
‘A Sunday Kind of Love’ by Etta James

**An Echo analysis of this is available. Would you like to see it?**

 

Because Steve was a hundred years old and had often spent his life before the ice trying to ignore his Echo and its kindred, he had no idea what this meant, so he clicks on ‘yes’.

 

**_“A Sunday Kind of Love by Etta James, 1960_ **

**_Psychological analysis by Kristina Yeltsin, 1978_ **

**_Love song Echoes have gained a reputation for belonging to shallow, frivolous individuals. I will be the first to agree with that assessment in many cases. ‘Sunday’, however, is a notable exception. Shallow love and brief affairs won’t satisfy Sunday for long. Sunday s is a rare person of real, lasting devotion. All they ask for is the same thing in return. They won’t settle for anything but love, true love, and if they have to, they’ll wait years, even decades to get it. You probably won’t see it, but they long for that every day, and many Sunday folks die single. Real love can be hard to find, and believe me, that’s the only kind they want. Despite this, they are quite capable and independent in their everyday life, and probably very passionate. Just don’t expect having a love song Echo means that Sunday is a naïve, trusting waif, because whether they’re fourteen or a hundred and four, this a wary and experienced individual. They have been burned before, and often. Think long and hard about what it is you want from them, because chances are, they already know what they want.”_ **

 

“God, that’s awful,” Steve mutters. Burned before, and often. He was certainly one of the people to do that in the past. Maybe not romantically, but that there were no winners between he and Tony, and only Tony had really lost. Whether Bucky could be held responsible or not for the deaths of Howard and Maria could be debated for the rest of their lives by philosophers and psychologists and lawyers – and probably would be long after they were all dead – but it was Steve who’d known the truth about the accident and it was Steve who’d chosen to withhold that secret.

 

It was the first thing he’d said to Tony when all the dust had really settled.

 

“I understand if you never want to see either of us ever again. Bucky has his own piece to say, if you’ll speak to him, but all I ask is this – don’t blame him for the things I did. The past is what is, and I’m not going to ask you to forgive Bucky or me. Neither of us would ever ask you for that. But I wish you hadn’t had to find out that way, and that’s all on me. Hydra _made_ Bucky do what did, but I had complete control of my actions, and I was the who chose to lie to you. I’m sorry about that, Tony. But don’t blame him for my mistakes.”

 

And Tony had eyed him frankly, head tilted back to give a calculating stare. “Why did you do it? Not the protecting him bit, that’s pretty obvious. But I know you didn’t do it just to save me the pain, that’s also pretty obvious.”

 

Flinching, he’d grimaced and said honestly “Because Tony, as hard as this probably is for you to believe, I panicked. I wasn’t sure what your reaction would’ve been, but I didn’t want him to face prison when he’s already been locked up for so long – it wouldn’t do him any good to be put in a cage in some institution. I suppose I had some vague notion of telling you eventually, but you didn’t deserve to be lied to in the first place, and I hate that you were forced to see it.”

 

Then there was that whole business before the fighting even started with Pepper, which Tony himself had admitted was the longest relationship he’d ever managed. He really had been sorry to hear that Tony and Pepper hadn’t worked out after all. Well…Steve told himself that he was sorry, and that was almost like the same thing. God, he knew it wasn’t right, being that possessive towards someone who wasn’t his, never would be his, didn’t want to be his.

 

He knew it wasn’t right, wanting five people at once.

 

At least now he and Tony finally had some common ground. They desired more than was decent, and Steve knew that wasn’t okay. He was surprised enough that homosexuals – the LGBT folks – were typically accepted now, but Bucky telling him that multiple Echoes was alright now was even more shocking. But surely _five_ was too much? In their day, Steve could be thrown in jail for the thoughts he’d had then – the thoughts he was still having now.

 

He’d never touched EUTERPE. It wasn’t something people talked about before, it wasn’t thrown around casually, as ringtones or on playlists.

 

Search ‘Echoes multiple’.

 

**Echo(es)**

**While for the most part uncommon, those with multiple are considered normal members of the community in modern Western culture. One extra Echo occurs in as many as 1 in 60 people. Two extra Echoes occurs in 1 in 26,000, and three extra are 1 in 440,000. Four extra are 1 in 1,872,000. Any greater than this number are considered far outside this are mostly known through historical anecdotes, such as the tale in Arabian Nights where the Sultan had 10 Brides, each with his Echo. Some researchers theorize the number to be as much as one in a billion or as little as one in ten billion. Those with ‘extra’ Echoes say that the songs in an ESM appear in the order in which you will meet your kindred soulmates.**

**-Devan Harper, 1999 – _“Got Soul: A Historical Record of the ElectroSoul Machine” (2 th Edition)_**

So, Tony was one in a billion, huh? Somehow that didn’t surprise Steve at all.

  
He tried looking for the song with Natasha’s voice and while he was certain that he remembered the lyrics correctly, no database pinged back any information on it. The third song was one he knew – ‘Will the Circle Be Unbroken?”. He’d heard it from birth, but the singer was unfamiliar to him, and according to every database he checked, knowing the version of any song was important for some reason.

 

The third song came back and Steve’s brows furrowed together, mouthing “Angry Hill”? at the screen.

 

**“Angry Hill” by George Ezra, 2013**

**analysis by Tommy Howell – 2015**

**Hill’s childhood was difficult – they were likely abused, probably by a male figure, and they will have anger management problems, depressive issues, or more likely both because of this. They have a hard time with their past and with the experiences that have shaped them up to this point. If this is getting you discouraged – don't be! This is a person who lives mostly in their own head, but this is not always a bad thing. They are reflective in nature, and while they may have difficulties letting their past go, they do work very hard to overcome the pitfalls present in their emotional makeup. They are on this journey for self-improvement and self-determination, and if you are lucky enough to be with them on it, you will get to see them progress into being comfortable inside their own skin. I hope you do, because the journey may be long and painful, but once they are, the results are really rather incredible. They have an emotional steadiness to them that can make your toughest burdens feel feather-light and when you need them, there is no more dependable person to have on your side. Don't let them give into their two foes, rage or sadness, and allow them to help you with your own demons. They are well equipped for the fight and you will be amazed by how skillfully they can beat them and bring you into the light again.**

The fourth try also yielded a set of results:

 

**“I'll Be Your Man” by The Black Keys, 2002**

**analysis by James Simms and Vince Prior – 2012**

**As much as the title says 'your man', this doesn't actually have to be a man. It's more probable than some other songs, but not required. That being said, this is something we need to get clear right now: this is a person with a gigantic heart, a generous soul, and absolutely no poetry. If you wanted romance, you are going to be disappointed. If that bothers you, then honestly? Fuck you. There’s a lot more here if you’re willing to give Your Man a second look. These are very straightforward people, and on the downside, this means their idea of a romantic evening is probably sitting on the couch and eating Doritos beside you. On the upside, they’re pretty much incapable of playing mind games, you won’t ever wonder what they want or what they’re thinking, and ‘beside you’ is definitely where they prefer to be. They possess little charm and no trickery. Maybe they open their mouths and stick their foot in it now and then, but you won’t get bullshit when you’re looking for emotional support, and all of their compliments and praises are always sincerely meant. Now doesn’t that sound nice? If you’re okay with sacrificing a little mystery and a whole lot of headaches, they’ll be ‘your man’, alright. Ready?**

He chews his lip and wonders who these three could be, and then decides that he can’t put it off any longer. His curiosity is too much to bear and he can’t decide if finds the idea of Bucky and Tony together arousing or enraging.

 

**“Buck” by Nina Simone, 1967**

**analysis by Faye Mulvaney – 2011**

**(original draft by Sylvester Paget – 1981)**

**Hoo boy! Mr Paget believed that with “Buck”, Nina built the fantasy of an ideal lover. And if this is true, I have to say that she got it pretty damn right, because Buck is very much any girl (or guy's) dream. Nina gives this song a swaggering, teasing sensuality that your boy will display every inch of – in the bedroom, if nowhere else. He is a whole lotta man, and Nina did not just mean that figuratively. Buck is a physically powerful presence. This is a man who knows how much he can hurt other people but will display a softness that may stun you. He also has an ever-present insecurity that is almost unbelievable. It’s difficult to say why, but this is a trait usually present by early childhood. Your boy needs to be told often and loudly that you want him, need him, and care about him because even if he doesn’t show it, he probably thinks you're one lucky break away from walking out on him. There is a tendency to put the people he loves on a pedestal and he can bring a whole new meaning to 'overprotective'. He is jealous and possessive, so watch how much you flirt with that waiter because if he thinks someone's getting handsy, _you_ will be fine, but the waiter may not be. Just don’t go overboard inviting his jealousy, don't tease his insecurity, encourage the gentleness you see in him, indulge his protection, and you've basically got the ideal man right here. **

He stares at those words for a long time, jealousy and something like disappointment fizzing in his blood. Bucky hasn’t mentioned being interested in men, but Tony is exactly the mix of charming and frustrating that would’ve driven Buck wild to impress back in the old days.

 

If Tony was half the genius/playboy he said he was, it wouldn’t take him long to see beyond Bucky’s unfortunate history. Losing one of them would be hard enough, to lose them both to each other might kill him.

\---

To be perfectly honest, Steve doesn’t know how it actually happens. The internet is big, bright, and colorful and it reminds him of trying to find his way through the fun houses at Coney Island.

 

Around 4 am, Steve finds himself in some kind of fansite dedicated to all of the Avengers and is startled to read one of the comments below a group photo of them at a world in summit in Turin:

_you can’t tell me all those people aren’t fucking in that tower. have you SEEN those goddamn press releases?_

  * _tru dat_



What follows is a conversation most people couldn’t manage to stomach reading, let alone one about themselves and their own friends. He should have stopped, should have exited the page, but it was like being hypnotized, and Steve kept reading things. Horrible things, awful slanders about each of them, and terrible insinuations about why Natasha and Wanda were living at the Tower, implications about what they could be doing with the only two females on the team.

 

That’s where he finally finds the line to stop, when one particularly vulgar piece of shit describes what he would like to do to Steve’s female teammates.

 

He backs away frantically from the bluish light of the tablet screen. Steve hasn’t felt this unwell since he was given the serum – he’s sweating, his chest feels tight, and for a moment his entire stomach rebels as though he’s going to throw up.

 

Steve will not pretend he doesn’t want Natasha. He’s not that big a fool. Natasha is a beautiful woman and she knows that, knows exactly how to use it, and she trusts him probably as much she’s ever trusted anyone, and that’s exactly why he would never touch her.

 

But _Wanda_.

 

Wanda is half the age of everyone else on the team and if _anyone_ _ever_ did what that dirtbag described to her, Steve would be perfectly happy to rip them in half – in a _very_ literal sense – and he was certain that the entire team would be overjoyed to help him.

 

“Captain Rogers,” Friday says in her soothing Irish brogue. “You are displaying signs of acute distress matching the systems of an early panic attack. Would you like me to call someone?”

 

Steve has never told Tony that Friday’s voice reminds him of his mother. He supposes her resemblance to Sarah Rogers could be a coincidence, but that doesn’t seem likely. Tony doesn’t really do coincidences. “No, no, Friday, I just need a second, don’t wake anyone up.”

 

“It’s almost nine o’clock, Captain Rogers,” she says helpfully. “Nearly everyone on the residential floors are already awake. Mister Odinson arrived an hour ago and he and Sergeant Barnes have begun making breakfast on the common floor.”

 

“ _Together_? Right, right. I’ll be right there.”

\---

Saying that Thor was helping Bucky make breakfast might have been a bit too generous a statement on Friday’s part. Bucky, while not exactly possessive of the common area kitchen, wasn’t really psyched about the idea of letting the space-prince cook the bacon and eggs. He was generous and left Thor in charge of flipping pancakes so that he could keep an eye on the eggs, half-listening to the man extoll the virtues of someone named Jane. He made agreeing noises where appropriate and was starting to feel comfortable with having his back turned to him when he heard elevator distantly ping another arrival.

 

Natasha and Tony have arrived and Bucky allows himself to relax a little as they step up to the bar stools. “Coffee?”

 

“Do you prefer your ladies fair or dark, Sergeant Barnes?”

 

“He’s partial to redheads,” Steve says bluntly, from the stairway door. He…doesn’t look great, to be honest. There are circles beneath his eyes and there is something lingering around his demeanor like anger.

 

“Oh, should I be worried?” Natasha asks slyly. “I’m the only one on the team.”

 

“Natasha, the diamond of my thorny heart, please get me a cup.” Tony pleads, then makes a sound of indignation, and says, mostly to be a pain: “Hey, what’s wrong with brunettes?!”

 

Natasha is facing the other way when – _please let her be getting him that coffee!_ – Tony feels his heart stop and stutter as Bucky turns his head and gazes at him beneath from his lashes, the blue-gray of his gaze sweeping over his body. Tony’s sleep-rumbled, in a t-shirt and pajama bottoms, hair unbrushed. It’s about as sloppy as he lets himself be seen. Bucky meets his eyes again. “Never said there was anything wrong with ‘em, did I? Nothing at all.”

 

_Was he…? Did Barnes really just check me out? He was totally checking me out! Why did he check me out? Is…was he just trying to flirt with me? Nothing…nothing wrong with me? Does that me he…he liked what he saw? Oh god, this is the weirdest fucking thing…No one else has noticed, be cool, Tony!_

 

“Blondes are hot, too,” he says casually.

 

“Hell yeah we are.” Clint claps him on the shoulder. “Hey Cap, why so blue?”


	3. one for my baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, friendship!
> 
> ...and sex jokes. I can't resist, apparently.

“Hell yeah we are.” Clint claps him on the shoulder. “Hey Cap, why so blue?”

 

“Mm, do you guys…” Steve honestly doesn’t know how to explain what’s bothering him, though he does wonder how on earth Clint is the first one to notice. Then again, ‘noticing’ is sort of his job description, and that sends a squirming discomfort through him. “You know people have like…fan clubs for us on the internet?”

 

Wanda, Peter, Sam, and Bruce come through the kitchen as Tony eyes him. Steve resists the urge to look away, knowing it will only make him look guilty. Well, _guiltier_. As flippant and careless as Tony behaves, he has an uncanny ability to read behavior that he normally hides. His dark eyes narrow as he takes in Steve’s face. “Cap, many people will tell you that the internet is man’s greatest, most helpful invention. The 21 st Century man knows that these people are what we would call ‘ _fucking liars_ ’. What did you see?”

 

“Just a forum,” he mumbles, unable to hold that knowing gaze any longer. “There are people who think we’re weapons of mass destruction, you know.”

 

Wanda, coming in from the elevator entrance, freezes in the doorway. That epithet has often been used to describe her specifically. Behind her, Sam murmurs something and gently squeezes her shoulder, coaxing her to move into the room. Peter, Bruce, and Rhodey file in behind them.

 

Tony, on the other hand, visibly relaxes a bit and chuckles. “Oh, was that all? I wouldn’t give too much credit to those people, Cap. They basically just exist to assassinate the character of every famous person alive.” He grins and tilts his head to address the kitchen ceiling. “Friday, you remember that one we found of me? The horns are an especially nice touch!”

 

He waves his hand over the empty wall on the far side of the room, a silent command that Friday display the image he has in mind. Wanda and Peter both gasp, Clint and Rhodey glower wordlessly, Natasha and Bruce stare stonily at the image, Steve and Bucky are shocked into silence, Thor exclaims “By the almighty gods!” in disgust, and Sam pretty much speaks for all of them by saying “Dude, what the _fuck?!_ ”

 

Tony grins crookedly, apparently unaware of how horrified his audience is, and says “See what I mean? Very nice touch…although, I do think they could’ve done a bit more with the arc reactor, they lose points for that…”

 

Peter, blanched to the color of bone, whispers “Mr. Stark…”

 

The image, clearly titled ‘the Merchant of Death’ at the bottom, shows a large image of Tony himself with the aforementioned horns along with ragged black wings, a grin full of pointed teeth, eyes like pools of ink, and black veins running beneath his skin. Dark blood drips from the corners of his eyes, the arc reactor bared by his shirtless state, and from his long, clawed fingers. Those fingers hold a set of chains, tethering masses of naked and wounded people.

 

Tony doesn’t seem to realize that his audience, the people who know and love him best, are completely repulsed by it. “I particularly like the folks in the back – you can see the American flag draped over that guy, presumably for Steve, and the redhead is obviously Natasha. Pretty sure the others next to them are Clint, Bruce, and Thor. It’s a good likeness, too.”

 

Wanda begins weeping profusely. This is the caricature, the image she would’ve believed and rejoiced in once. Over the image’s right shoulder is Ultron, and over the left is Thanos (as though Tony was somehow responsible for an alien megalomaniac coming to earth). She sobs “I did it! I did it! It was my f-fault!”

 

“ _You_ drew this?!” Bucky demands, turning to her in outrage.

 

“No, no. U-Ultron!” Wanda wails. “I did it! It was my fault! I was the one who pu-put the fears in his mind! It was my fault! I’m the reason Ultron exists! The reason the Sokovian Accords happened! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry”

 

“Come here,” Tony says quietly, beckoning her to his side.

 

Wanda, trembling and frightened, nevertheless walks to him and when Tony enfolds her in his arms, sobs in earnest. “Listen to me,” he says carefully. “You didn’t show me anything I didn’t already see at night in my dreams, kiddo. The Ultron project already existed before that night. Maybe not the way it happened, but the blueprints for it were created long before that.”

 

“You didn’t help Tony on that project, Wanda,” Bruce interjects abruptly. “I did. And we both agreed mutually not to tell our other teammates what we were working on. I may have argued against the fabrication process at the last minute, but I think we both knew that was too little too late. I could’ve stopped Tony – he would’ve listened to me, had I made any real objections. But I didn’t, and he didn’t. You aren’t solely responsible, and neither is Tony.”

 

Softly, Rhodey adds “Neither of you had any reason to suspect that it would go so wrong. I’ve seen Tony working on AIs since he was a teenager – each and every single one of them was successful up until that day. In the end, Ultron carries the real weight of his actions.”

 

“None of us exactly handled it well,” Steve adds fairly.

 

“ _Omlouvam se, Tat’ka!”_ Wanda chokes. Luckily her face is hidden in Tony’s shoulder, so no one else can see the moment she realizes that she added an extra, probably inappropriate, noun to her sentence.

 

Tony is completely ignorant of her slip and shushes her, giving her a last tight squeeze before letting her slink away to clean up her face and go fix her makeup.

 

Natasha on the other hand, narrows her eyes. She’s pretty sure Wanda wasn’t referring to melting or thawing, apropos of nothing, so she’s pretty sure she understands exactly what Wanda said. She checks Bucky and Clint’s expressions, but neither of them seems to notice. Clint’s Czech is terrible though, and she’s still not certain what languages Bucky managed to master. Isn’t sure he even knows.

 

She’s a cynical enough person to wonder if that move was calculated to get her back into Tony’s good graces, or if it was a genuine emotion, or just the accidental slip of the tongue for a woman in her late teens who doesn’t have any male – or female – parental figures. Probably not the first, since in order to calculate that properly, she would’ve had to say it in English. Something to keep an eye on.

 

“Friday, get rid of that,” Steve barks, glaring at the projected picture, then winces and adds “Please.”

 

Bucky glances at him in concern. He knows that particular tone of anger well, the itch of injustice that drives all of Steve’s deepest rages. He catches Steve’s eye, jerks his head. _Not our business, Steve. Not our place._

\---

Steve seems to settle down, but Bucky isn’t dumb enough to believe he’s let it go. It doesn’t help that the back of his own mind is wondering how hard it could possibly be to kill an internet troll. HYDRA gave him info on tracking an IP address, right?

 

As he suspects, the shit has not quite stopped hitting the fan because now that Steve has opened up this can of worms, he can’t stop meddling with it. Bucky is minding his own fucking business ( _see that, Steve, see how goddamn easy that is?!_ ), watching some kind of film about dancing (“But why is it dirty? They aren’t naked or covered in mud.”) with Natalia when his friend approaches him, leaning on the back of the sofa between them. Quietly, Steve says “You should go to him.”

 

Natalia says, “I know you are not talking about who I think you’re talking about.” Even so, she lowers the volume on the film and turns to him. “It’s not illegal, but that doesn’t mean it’s as easy as you think.”

 

“I killed his parents, Steve,” Bucky says, gently but with firm conviction. “Having me in this Tower is already overstepping my boundaries, as far as I’m concerned. I’d have left months ago, but Natalia already told me about Tony’s ‘collecting lost people’ thing, and I didn’t need to waste months running when I already know you’d just try and hunt me down again.”

 

“Regardless, it won’t work,” Natasha says, not unkindly. “Whether Tony is a Siren or not…”

 

“Siren?” Steve asks, noticing that Bucky also looks puzzled.

 

“A person who collects soulmates,” Natasha clarifies. “A Siren can’t complete a bond because their soul is always gathering and discarding mates on a moments whim. They can’t help themselves, and it’s usually a sign of emotional damage. They’re a textbook commitment-phobe. Even if Tony isn’t actually a Siren, we can’t just go to him, Steve.”

 

“Why? You can’t honestly tell me that you think you aren’t his lullaby.” It’s an old-fashioned way of phrasing it, but it carries Steve’s point well. “Bucky’s name, and your voice? It’s pretty clear to me.”

 

“If he has five, then he _needs_ five,” Natasha tells him, with a hint of real regret in her tone. “That’s the real problem with a multi-soul complex, Steve. Tony needs to find five other people with those EXACT same songs in their make-up. If those relationships aren’t perfectly balanced, they’re doomed to fail before they start.” More quietly, she admits “I’d rather have my teammate forever than my soulmate for a few months.”

 

It’s a rare moment of vulnerability for her, so Steve turns to his old friend instead.

 

“I ain’t got the right, Stevie,” Bucky says, looking up at him. Willing his stubborn friend to understand. “I ain’t the right to ask for his hand. Not when there are other people way more deserving, especially if he has to have a six-way match.”

 

 _And it would kill me to leave you_ , he does not say. _Forget a few months, I’d wreck it in a couple short weeks, because even with Tony and maybe even Natalia right there, I’d never stop looking over my shoulder, for you. Wanting you. I’ve done it for over seventy years, I doubt I’ll be stopping now._

 

Maybe Tony wasn’t even a match for him in the same way – or maybe he’d gotten the wrong song for Bucky. It wasn’t unheard of, even if Bucky saw those dark eyes when he slept at night. _Why_ he would bond to his parents’ murderer was beyond him but Bucky, as said murderer, was definitely in no place to judge him. Bucky certainly couldn’t guarantee he had any claim over Natalia, and if she was right about the balance of six, then this wouldn’t even work if he didn’t.

 

It all seemed so terribly sad to Steve. A soulmate was one’s birthright, and more than anyone else, the three of them deserved to have it. He absolutely believed that Natasha and Bucky were both one in a billion, just like Tony.

 

_Now if only I can find three others, three other one-in-a-billions._

 

Well, shit. When put like that, it didn’t sound so exciting. It sounded more like searching for three needles in a world-sized haystack.

 

Luckily for Steve, there are couple of things that will help jump-start his task.

\---

“I would like to state for the record, that I definitely did not do this,” Tony says loudly, ducking beneath the blast of a large, spider-like robot in Rockefeller Center. “Because first of all, I have way better aesthetic taste than this.”

 

“It’s very _The Incredibles_ ,” Clint agrees conversationally. “Only less interesting, cause I’m pretty sure that one was like…a learning bot, right?”

 

“Try not to give Doom any ideas, please,” Steve says, pained, clocking a robot in the head.

 

“Uh, Cap,” Peter squeaks. “Might be too late for that.”

 

Sam and Bucky, who are nearest to him, both yell “NO PETER!” and the boy makes a high, yelping sound like a puppy that’s been stepped on.

 

“Peter?!” Tony demands frantically. “Pete, answer me!”

 

“F-fine I’m fine, Mr. Stark,” he whimpers.

 

“No, he ain’t,” Bucky growls. “Jesus, your leg. Stay down, I’m coming to you, kid.”

 

“I’m really f-”

 

“Don’t you dare finish that fuckin’ sentence, I was roommates with Steven Goddammit Rogers for a decade, I know when a kid ain’t fine,” Bucky snaps.

 

“Listen to what the scary soviet assassin says, Peter,” Tony scolds, then frowns, clarifying “The scary _male_ soviet assassin.”

 

Amused, Steve says “Does that mean he _doesn’t_ have to listen to the female?”

 

“Yes,” Natasha purrs. “Do tell, Stark.”

 

“I am shutting up now,” Tony says fervently. “Before you can convince to incriminate myself.”

 

Bucky and Natasha both laugh in eerily similar tones, low and intimate, and Tony is suddenly very glad that the Iron Man armor covers his face because dirty jokes don’t faze him but hot Russians threatening bodily harm make him blush to the toes and give him the shakes. _What the fuck does that say about me as a person_?!

 

“Hey, Big Guy!” Tony yells to the Hulk standing at his…well, normally it would at his side since he and Bruce are a similar height, but it’s more like standing at the Hulk’s ankles. “Can we get a-?”

 

He moves to elbow the person who tries to grab him from behind, but the person – who is also armored, though not with equipment nearly as sophisticated as his own – anticipates the move just a moment faster than Tony can adjust for. He ends up cringing at Hulk’s loud roar of rage.

 

Tony hears the click of a gun’s safety right next to his head, and freezes.

\---

Bucky slides down an embankment of rubble, where Peter is laying in a crater made by one of the larger bots. He’s terrified and angry, and the anger wins as he looks over the scorched portion of Peter’s leg. “Don’t you ever do that again,” he hisses, bending to lift his weight. Sam is waiting at the top of the carter, first aid kit already prepped. “You hear me? I’ll talk to Tony about taking you off rotation.”

 

“He was gonna hit you,” Peter says weakly, face ashen as Sam peels away the suit from his charred leg.

 

“Yeah, and you should’ve let ‘em,” Bucky answers baldly, gently tilting Peter’s head so that their eyes will meet. “I don’t give a shit for superstrength or superhealing, just ask Captain Asshat. It ain’t your job to take hits for any of us, especially us ‘enhanced’ folks. I’ll survive and even if I don’t, Pete, I’m over a _hundred_ , and you’re _seventeen_. I was never top of the class, but that math don’t add up.”

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

 

“Don’t be sorry, kid, just don’t do that again.” Lower, he says “Don’t make me explain to Tony I’ve gotten someone else he cares about killed.”

 

“I can still hear you both,” Tony says, uncharacteristically somber and quiet. “In an entirely unrelated note, would one of you mind helping me, please?”

\---

The woman holding the gun – some sort of sonic device? – speaks to the Hulk instead of him. Which…good choice, honestly. Talk to the raging green monster that wants to rip your head off instead of the metal man you’re holding hostage. “Stand down,” she says shakily. “Or I’ll shoot him right here.”

 

Tony cringes, the Hulk’s roar of fury leaving his ears ringing.

 

Yeah, the Big Guy takes having Tony threatened about as well as can be imagined. He snorts and pounds the ground with wrath, snarling and clearly furious that Dumb Lady is taunting him and threatening Metal Man.

 

He can feel the stupid woman shaking with fear, but she must realize that as long as Tony is in immediate danger, she herself is as safe as she can get.

 

In his ear, Clint mutters “Fuck off, bitch. Get your own action figure if you want one so bad.”

 

Tony doesn’t even have time to giggle hysterically the way he wants.

 

Her body slides to the ground, an arrow appearing in her left eye.

 

The Hulk sniffs around him frantically, clearly checking that his captor is dead and Tony lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. He turns his head to the direction the arrow came from, blowing the distant figure a kiss. “My hero.”

 

“Be my sugar daddy, and I’ll be whatever the fuck you want, _Tony-bear_.”

 

“I’m already your sugar daddy,” he pouts theatrically.

 

“Are not.” He can hear the grin in Clint’s voice as he huskily says “Cause, I don’t remember getting any sugar, daddy.”

 

Even Tony chokes. “Oh my god, Barton!”

 

Steve says “Uh, maybe not in front of the kids. Or, um, anybody.”

 

“We’re all gonna go deaf, I swear to god,” Sam complains.

 

"That's okay, I'll teach you sign, it'll be great."

 

And Steve takes an internal pause. _Clint, one in a billion?_

 

He turns and watches the archer knock his arrow and loose it, hitting his enemy right on target without bothering to even turn his head in its direction.

 

_Yeah. One in a billion. One in ten billion. No question._

 

It did occur to Steve that he was preparing himself to lose the people he loved. It did not occur to him to look within himself. He _wasn't_ one in a billion. He was just some kid from Brooklyn.


	4. I desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "God these are some emotionally constipated assholes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I was honestly expecting people to either ignore this or write it off as cheesy nonsense. Pleasant surprises!

Because Earth was something of a big deal these days, most people in the other parts of the universe liked to keep something of a weary eye on it. The well-informed had quickly discovered that one interested in intergalactic affairs could use the goings-on in Terra as a kind of bell-weather planet for others outside the Milky Way.

 

The Nova Corps in particular liked to keep watch on the neighbors, who were very similar to themselves in appearance and some customs and were now considered something of a young sister plant to them. Nova Prime was therefor delighted to encourage the Guardians to go back to Peter Quill’s mother planet to take in the goings-on and discuss news across the galaxies with his contacts.

 

His contacts, however, could’ve happily gone without some of the Milano’s current crew members. Namely…

 

“Loki,” Clint snarls.

 

Beside him, Bucky bares all his teeth, like the wolf the people of Wakanda named him for. “This is the one? Mind control?”

 

“And he threw Tony out a window.”

 

Loki waves a hand impatiently. “He was uninjured.”

 

“He was on the _penthouse_ floor,” Natasha hisses with a cold glare. “And you grabbed him by the neck and threw him into plate glass. Without the armor on.”

 

“From the sound of it, that’s hardly worse than anything you’ve done to him,” Loki sniffs, though his pale eyes dart to his big brother nervously, shifting his robes around his legs with his right hand, glacial blue under the lighting of the Tower. Ever since Thanos cut it off, the god of mischief had been able to regrow it, but the limb was determined to stay in its jotunn appearance. Annoyingly, it even resisted his attempts to disguise it with a glamor.

 

“Loki is required to be here,” Thor says, gentle but stern, nodding to Valkyrie, who grabs Loki by the upper arm. “As part of the peace agreements, he is serving his sentence through the assistance of diplomatic relations.”

 

Valkyrie snorts. “Good thing, too,” she says, jerking her head back at the Guardians. “These twits have no idea how to talk to people – Mantis would’ve gotten us beheaded in Vanxara X9 if it weren’t for your brother’s silver tongue.”

 

Quietly, Bruce greets his former teammates. “Let’s get you settled in and find your rooms. Friday?”

 

“Now tracking heat signature: Loki Friggason,” the A.I. says dutifully. “Guest is advised that anomalies in this heat signature will cause all floors to go on automatic lockdown without an override from the Boss.”

 

“Tony!” Peter shouts gleefully, clapping billionaire on the back. “Thank god you’re taking the gloom monster. Putting up with Nebula is hard enough – _OW_! I mean, y’know, she’s grown on me. But having them on the same ship should be a war crime, if you understand me.”

 

“Fighting the downtrodden war criminal sibling Olympics,” Bucky mutters.

 

“As opposed to the anger management Olympics?” Bruce asks wryly, gesturing between the two of them.

 

“If we’ve got control of it now, does that make us losers or winners?”

 

Clint barks out a laugh. “It makes everyone else very, very lucky.”

 

“Do you not have the table with the sticks here?” Drax says with interest, peeing out the ship’s gangway before following Gamora out onto the landing pad.

 

Rocket answers “It’s called foosball, you idiot. And you cheat!”

 

“I am GROOT!” the tiny Groot squeaks from his perch on Gamora’s shoulder. Whatever he’s said makes the fierce woman chuckle. “Yes, yes, of course. But stay where we can see you.”

 

Nebula goes stomping after them, following the group while muttering darkly under her breath the whole time and glaring at the back of Loki’s dark head.

 

“Pete, Pete,” little Peter says with his usual degree of pants-wetting excitement, despite hobbling around on his injured leg. “You have to see Mr. Stark’s awesome ESM! It’s the best one there is! The sound is incredible!”

 

“What’s that?” Quill says, stopping everyone in their tracks. “Is it like a stereo? Aw, shi-shoot! What happened to you, mini-me?”

 

“Oh, Quill was too young,” Tony says slowly. “Coincidentally, that’s what happened to your squeaky friend. He’s been put back on the training wheels until Steve and I decide he’s fit to go back.”

 

“Please can I show him?” Peter pleads, puppy dog eyes and all. “We’ll be more careful this time, I promise!”

 

The flash of uncertainty in Tony’s eyes is quickly hidden away. “Well, Barnes has put you on the lame duck list and I suppose Lang isn’t here to make trouble. Yeah, kiddo, go for it. Stay on your crutches, though. No dancing around – I don’t want Brucie-baby to go code green on me.”

 

Thor glances over at the smaller man with concern. Tony’s discomfort went unnoticed, but Loki knows his brother well, and he’s terrible at concealing his expression even with only one eye. “Now what wrongs must we right?” he asks sarcastically. “My days as your sidekick are over, but I do admit it can be great fun watching you bumble around.”

 

“I’m afraid I do not know the whole story,” Thor allows slowly. “And I shall not go around telling tales, least of all to you.”

 

“Kill joy.” Loki mutters, scowling.

 

“Troublemaker,” his brother counters easily.

\---

Quill is indeed awed by the power of EUTERPE. “Will it work on me?” he breathes, delighted. “Because I’m not, y’know, one hundred percent human?”

 

“I don’t see why not,” Gamora says, prowling around the interface after hearing Parker enthusiastic explanation for the machine. “You said it reads the patterns in the brain, correct? Though I often believe otherwise, presumably you do have one.”

 

Tony grins. “Have I ever mentioned how much I like you? Any time you get bored traveling through space, Gamora, I am your man.”

 

“Nuh-uh.” Quill sticks his tongue out at Tony and wraps a possessive arm around her waist. “Get your own hot alien badass.”

 

Tony hooks a thumb over his shoulder at Natasha. “Yeah, hi. See her? I’m sorry, Quill, but my scary hot assassin is better than your scary hot assassin.”

 

Natasha smiles at the way Gamora rolls her eyes. “I will put knives in places you never wished to have them,” she threatens, pushing Quill away – though not nearly hard enough to even make him stumble. She pats him, a bit patronizingly, on the shoulder. “Go play with your music toy.”

 

“Come on, one of you play with me!” Quill says with a pout. “It doesn’t sound like much fun without a partner playing with you!”

 

“I will!” Peter says eagerly, wobbling as he tries to let go of his crutches. “Ah!”

 

Looking put upon, Gamora holds Peter up by the elbow so that he can use one hand on the console to play.

 

When they put their hands down, Peter Quill is smoky red-brown, like old blood and old leather. Tony begins to laugh because Peter Parker is pure, solid gold. He didn’t need the console to tell him that. The laughter got louder as Quill won after a small struggle and David Bowie says _“Ziggy played guitar, jamming good…”_

 

Peter’s – Parker’s – face was screwed up with concentration as he wobbled slightly in Gamora’s hold. “What does it even mean?”

 

“Why are the spiders from Mars?” Drax asks curiously. “Are there spiders on Mars? Why haven’t we met them?”

 

Rocket shakes his head, face-palming with the air of the long-suffering.

 

When he could manage to get his breath, Tony says “It means that Quill is an arrogant little shit who needs to be careful not to get distracted by his own fame and good looks. Come on, kiddo, sit down and rest now.”

 

“You play, old man!” Quill crows, giving Tony a ‘bring it on’ kind of gesture.

 

Tony hesitates. This didn’t go too well last time, but this shouldn’t be much of a problem and hopefully, he’ll get another good laugh out of this. Unfortunately, this situation doesn’t make him laugh.

 

Peter Quill doesn’t follow the rules. His wins the contest, which is usual enough considering their age difference.

 

The buzzing of electronica proceeds it.

 

“ _Through the Milky Way, in my spaceship. At the speed of light, I’m gonna make it. I know you’ve been expecting me…”_

 

Quill is elated, whooping and dancing around to the music and Tony watches him, outwardly amused but inside, he’s troubled. When the song is over, he quietly asks Friday “What song was that?”

 

“According to Google, that was ‘Call Me A Spaceman’ by Hardwell, featuring Mitch Crown,” she answers promptly.

 

Steve is nearby, and apparently his discomfort shows on his face, because the all-American golden retriever murmurs “Is something wrong?”

 

He scratches the back of his head. “It doesn’t follow the rules.” When Steve looks confused, he sighs, clarifying “People tend to follow a pattern, personality-wise. Most people have some kind of underlining hang-up in their songs. Style preference, title quirk. One college roommate refused to play any song that wasn’t from The Beatles. This is the first time I’ve ever gotten one that doesn’t follow the rules literally since the day I started.”

 

Steve is both eager to help and also almost criminally reckless. Impulsively, he steps up to the platform and slaps his hand down with Quill’s on the console.

 

Again, oddly, Peter wins.

 

“ _Through the Milky Way, in my spaceship. At the speed of light, I’m gonna make it. I know you’ve been expecting me…”_

 

Quill is still amused, but also looks puzzled. “Is it supposed to do that?”

 

“There’s something wrong, isn’t there?” Steve assess, glancing at Tony.

 

Tony looks at the ceiling. “Friday, link to EUTERPE and give me a preference profile on both Steve and the Peters.”

 

“Linking up.” There’s pause. “Captain Rogers would lean toward ballads in a style seen before the 1960’s and prefers a female vocalist. Peter Quill favors classic rock, especially those that suit dancing. Peter Parker likes rock and roll and music with an up-tempo.”

 

“So, the Peters fit the profile for Ziggy Stardust, but the three of us don’t fit this,” Tony mutters, still staring at the ceiling. “Huh. Maybe EUTERPE has a glitch.”

 

Why would the machine treat Steve and Tony as if they were the same person, completely ignoring their own musical profiles at the same time?

 

“I shall try!” Drax booms. “Come, Quill!”

 

He sorta forgets about it after that. Seeing Quill trying to explain the innuendo in “Big Balls” to Drax is absolutely priceless, as is watching Rocket lose his shit the more the song goes on.

 

The problem is that EUTERPE does this again, except this time, it happens to Bruce and Natasha, who are both coaxed into trying the game with Thor, who is so merry and encouraging it’s hard to say no to.

 

“ _Hey, brother. There’s an endless world to rediscover. Hey, sister. Do you still believe in love, I wonder? Oh, if the sky comes fallin’ down, for you, there’s nothin’ in this world I wouldn’t do…”_

 

Natasha feels caught by Thor’s gaze as he smiles kindly at her, even unbalanced as it now is. In a strange way, the man has grown old in her eyes. There was a youngness to the god before, despite his age. The death of his father, the return of both siblings, and the defeat of his sister has given him an air of age and wisdom that seem to reach out of her now.

 

She feels herself turn away from it. Whatever he sees in her, she doesn’t want to know, but she’s happy for the kindness he seems to offer her.

 

Thor wins the game, and EUTERPE treats both Bruce and Natasha as if they were the same person each time, playing them the same songs.

 

“Show me profiles for Brucie-bear and the Red Scare,” Tony grumps.

 

“Doctor Banner usually defers to the partner’s artist, and Agent Romanov prefers to imitate her partner’s style.”

 

“Dammit, this doesn’t fit.” Tony sighs. Guess he has some debugging to do later.

 

They stay up so late fiddling around with EUTERPE that Gamora, with Mantis’ help, has to practically drag their teammates back to their rooms. However, despite Gamora’s enhanced strength, Peter was taller and heavier than herself, an awkward burden that makes the pair of them stumble around and crash straight into the pillar of the console.

 

The interesting thing about EUTERPE’s console is that to play a song, an individual must keep contact with it for the song’s duration. A pair playing the game, however, only needs to touch it briefly.

 

Gamora does not notice the pillar changing its internal colors, or that the bright magenta immediately wins its right to a voice.

 

She does stumble when she hears her own language, so long dead in her ears.

_“From darkness I understand the night. Dreams flow, a star shines. Ah! I desire Evenstar._

_Having watched the day grow dark, I go into the night – a place to dream. Ah! I desire Elfstone._

_I desire! The star of stars!”_

 

Gamora is gratified that when she looks into Peter’s eyes, they’re swimming with liquid. He looks exhausted, elated, and touched. Emotional. She should hate it. But the twisting feeling in her stomach isn’t distaste. Peter, of course, can understand the words because he has the proper translation implants. “Honey, that was _beautiful_ ,” he murmurs, straightening up to embrace her, even as clumsy as he was. “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

\---

The next day, they are enjoying the sunshine out on one of the rooftop gardens.

 

On the grass, leaning up against a tree, Peter and Gamora lounge in the shade, sipping beer and dozing on a picnic blanket as they lean against each other. Peter has an old mp3 player in one hand and they each have a bud in their ears. Groot, stumbling around, chasing blades of grass and flower petals that Wanda magicks into dancing on an invisible breeze, makes his unsteady way to them. He collapses on the edge of their blanket and Gamora holds a hand out for him to take, let him walk by himself but providing something for him to cling to.

 

Peter, who doesn't seem the type of man to appreciate his time with a lady being interrupted by a child, pauses the music and hands him his own earbud, gathering the tree-toddler to his chest carefully.

 

Rocket on the hand has finally stopped attempting to fight his gruesome hangover and rests with his eyes closed, leaning against Gamora's calf.

 

Natasha watches all of this and quietly, fiercely, burns with jealousy. Tony was right - she and Gamora aren't so different. Why then does the woman have everything Natasha wants?

 

Steve has never seemed to notice her, never mind notice that her eyes linger. Bucky either doesn't remember their history or doesn't wish to. Tony began treating her like eye candy and now treats her like a poisonous snake. Clint, ever since making that call, has maintained a certain amount of distance to her, even as much as she knows he cares. She thought she'd finally got it right with Bruce, but he ran at the first opportunity.

 

But she looks at Peter and Gamora and there's a voice that sounds like Tony in her head. "Why can't you have what you want?"

 

She turns her to glance at Tony, talking to Pepper and trying not to look awkward and pained, and in her mind, a voice that sounds very much like Clint says "Tasha, you should have what you want. It's yours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why is Groot still in baby form? Because I love him - don't take this anyway from me, dammit! As always, the chapter playlist for the songs presented: "Ziggy Stardust" by David Bowie, "Call Me a Spaceman" by Hardwell, "Big Balls" by AC/DC, "Hey, Brother" by Avicii, and "Aniron" by Enya.
> 
> Why did I make Gamora's language elvish? Mm, because I can! No, but for real, "Aniron" has a kind of dignity and quiet passion to it that I feel really suit Gamora, especially the way she feels about Peter.


	5. till the day i die

"Are you feeling alright?” Gamora asks Mantis quietly. “You’ve been looking…not good ever since we arrived.”

 

Her powers had been advancing steadily since being removed from Ego’s influence and occasionally high-crowd volumes made it difficult to escape the sense of having their feelings all around her. During most of their time spent on Terra, Mantis had remained resting in their suite of rooms, but she’s elected to come out tonight – from the looks of her though, Mantis is wishing she hadn’t. Her empathy was no longer just touch-based anymore.

 

“They are so loud,” Mantis replies in distress. “They all talk, layered over one another!”

 

It was very different – and very disturbing – from being aboard the Milano II.

 

On the Milano, Peter and Gamora were one string – a single perfect thread, which connected them to each other and struck a single note like an exquisitely tuned harp. Drax, Groot, and Rocket’s individual strings were frayed, but their own notes tended to harmonize with the sound played by the pair that led them, creating a chord that was lovely to listen to. Gradually, Nebula and Mantis were learning to tune themselves to that same chord as the others adjusted to help blend in with them, and while Valkyrie and Loki didn’t exactly play along, they didn’t just create sound wily-nily, either. They just had their own steady beats, their own measured voices, and they were much more in-synch with Thor.

 

Being in the Avengers Tower was the totally overwhelming opposite of that.

 

Most of them seemed to be connected in an interlocking web that was virtually impossible to escape from, but none of them could really figure out how to strike the right notes, or at the right times. It was a horrible cacophony that clanged around her, leaving Mantis confused and a bit heartbroken all the time. Mr. Stark, while not necessarily the worst, was the LOUDEST about this. The green man, the younger Peter and the scarlet girl seemed to keep some of the same rhythms with him most of the time, but that was almost worse. The inconsistent tendency for people to be on-beat sometimes and totally off at others was enough to drive any sane person mad, especially when they were all in the same room together.

 

No, strike that. Mantis knew which the worst was – at least by her estimation.

 

Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes couldn’t seem to play in the same time as any of their other teammates, and even more irritating, were always _just off_ in some way with one another. The Captain constantly too sharp or too flat in the wrong moments and the Sergeant playing just a half step behind the beat.

 

Having to hear them very nearly manage to find the same melody in each moment was nothing short of excruciating. It was almost as though they were doing it on purpose, though Mantis was quite certain that wasn’t the case. Other people weren’t as in-tune as she was. She highly doubted they even noticed.

\---

Across the room, at the very same moment, Tony was frowning at EUTERPE’s console.

 

Nothing was wrong with her. Nothing in the diagnostics he ran indicated any kind of problem in the analytics. The little Peter asks anxiously “What d’you think is wrong, Mr. Stark?”

 

Tony scratches his head. “Must be the alien biology, I’d have to assume.” He points toward Peter and Gamora in the far corner. “If those two aren’t a destined pair, Pete, I’ll eat my Italian shoes.”

 

Peter squints, confused. “Yeah…okay? What does that have to do with EUTERPE being broken?”

 

“She isn’t broken, that’s the point,” Tony replies impatiently. “When a matched set join up, both of them get a voice. It’s an unintentional feature, but useful in a way. Only Gamora’s song played, some sort of pretty alien gibberish. Whatever is in the alien makeup isn’t compatible with my current software. EUTERPE isn’t broken – she just needs some updating.”

 

Eagerly, Peter says “Can I help, Mr. Stark?”

 

“Sure you can. Remind me later to give you some of the info on her coding data. It’s been a couple of years since I did any new work on her programming. Might be fun messing with the software again.”

\---

Natasha waits until the crowd has dwindled some in the night.

 

Sam likes to call it a night early and the Guardians leave earlier this time, upon Gamora’s insistence that she and Mantis will not be helping them back to bed this time.

 

Peter passes out on the sofa sometime just after eleven. Besides having a large appetite, Peter seems capable of sleeping half the day away, though it’s often impractical during his daily life to do so, the Avengers try whenever he’s not actively on duty, to make sure he gets as much rest as he can.

 

Valkyrie convinces Wanda that swimming at midnight is a great idea.

 

She would rather Loki was not present, but Tony is and that’s the important thing. As she walks toward the platform, she can see Clint watching her from the corner of her eye, staring with horrified disbelief as she steps up and places her hand upon the orb.

 

Natasha’s color is the silvery-white of a delicately spun spider’s web. Cynically, she was half-expecting either black or blood red.

 

She knows what she will hear – the Red Room never allowed for possible weakness, but she doesn’t know what, if anything, comes after that. They were forbidden to listen once their own Echo drifted out.

 

The drums pound.

 

_“Followed my heart, into the fire…”_

 

Her own voice sounds strong, determined. Natasha wishes she had half of that confidence somewhere inside.

 

She can feel their eyes on her and Natasha, staring fixedly at her hand and the ghostly silver, who has never believed in any god a day in her life, finds herself praying. _A Sunday kind of love. C’mon. Give me a Sunday kind of love, that’s all I’m looking for._

 

It’s not what she got, though.

 

Vibrant color rises to her cheeks as Nina Simone tells the whole room that Buck is _a whole lotta man._

 

No, no, it can’t be!

 

And it doesn’t stop there – The Black Keys promise _when times get tough – oh we’ll get tougher._

 

Then, finally, finally Etta James wants to know _it’s more than love at first sight._

 

But more, more because a husky-voiced young woman promises that _there are loved ones, in the glory._

 

“Oh my god, that’s Elizabeth!” Clint gasps. “I knew it sounded familiar!”

 

“We…do not know an Elizabeth,” Thor says, with unusual tact.

 

He cocks his head, trying to meet Natasha’s eye. “From that game I played, remember? With the city that floats in the sky? She hit me with a wrench and wore a pretty blue dress?”

 

“Yes, I remember,” she murmurs. Mostly she remembers the end, when Clint was left staring at the screen, openly crying as he stared in shock from beneath the water. “Hm. _Wanda in blue_.”

 

Despite half-expecting it, Natasha startles and nearly loses contact with the console when hears the fifth song and George Ezra tells her _maybe I may learn to walk. Maybe I may learn to turn my back…_

 

Tony is staring straight at her, stunned, and Natasha feels equally if not more shocked than he is. “I-I didn’t know,” she said dumbly. “I thought it was just…”

 

“Fuck it.” Clint sighs, a soft and tired sound. “I guess we’re gonna do this now, huh?”

 

He slaps his hands down, the console lighting up a lovely shade of violet purple.

_“Cause I’m the one, whose gonna show. When there’s nobody…I’ll be your man…”_

_“And I will reach so high, shoot so far, gonna hit, gonna hit-hit every target!”_

_“You remember happy gatherings, round the fireside, long ago…”_

_“Can’t seem to find somebody, someone to care…”_

_“Thinks of yesterday’s blues, cause today’s are just far too grim…”_

_“Never have to worry ‘bout you goin’ out…”_

 

Bucky looks uncomfortable by the time the song ends, shoulders hunched up around his ears. Tony hates that expression – it never fails to resemble nothing so much as a whipped puppy.

 

Glances between the three of them, each calling out for him by name. “You really don’t want this.”

 

“We really don’t have a choice,” Natasha answers quietly. “It’s already happened.”

 

Bucky also sighs, though his is long-suffering and slightly miserable. His color is the warm, fizzing pale gold of champagne, matching nicely to the arm Shuri made for him.

 

_“Buck! How sweet is your back!”_

_“Do you love the…hymns they taught you?”_

_“My star’s gonna shine brighter than your sun!”_

_“River is deep? Well, I’m swimming! Mountain is high?”_

_“And I’m on a lonely road, that leads to nowhere…”_

_“He’s gotta mind and eyes and both set to kill, oh!”_

 

He steps back with head hung down, the silky fall of dark hair obscuring his face.

 

Bruce surprises them all by speaking, so quiet that most had forgotten his presence. “Are you disappointed?”

 

“God, no,” Bucky says hoarsely. “But I don’t deserve it, not a single one.”

 

“There’s no such thing as ‘deserve’,” Clint says, quiet but fierce. “You know that better than anyone.”

 

Bruce’s hand shakes and his color is not the green of the Hulk, but the vibrant, verdant green that reminds them all of lush grass and mossy forests.

 

_“He’s as angry as the hills…”_

_“I was a girl caught under your thumb…”_

_“And you think of…tearful partings…when they left you here, below…”_

_“…every minute, every hour, every day…”_

_“Hold on to me. I got you, darlin’, yeah!”_

_“Gentle oh so gentle are the things you do…”_

 

Bruce lets go of the console and his face is pale. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” he says, taking in a shaky breath. “We only have five.”

 

In a moment of shocking helpfulness, Loki speaks for the first time. “They appear to you in the order of your introduction. You all have obviously met them.”

 

Bucky’s eyes widen, because that could only mean one thing. “Steve.”

 

While he has been watching this whole thing play out with poorly disguised interest, that was absolutely the last thing Steve was expecting him to say and his brows knit with confusion. He rather stupidly blurts out “What?”

 

And both Bruce and Tony say “Oh!”

 

Natasha has to repress a smile as Steve looks wildly around, increasingly baffled. “What’s ‘oh’? What did I do?” ‘

 

“You’re Elizabeth!” Clint says eagerly. “Oh, that totally makes sense!”

 

“It’s a very old song, placed in a very new context,” Natasha agrees, not quite meeting his eyes.

 

“But I-I’m not-” Steve stutters, flushing brighter and brighter. What he’s trying to say is _“But I’m not one in a billion!”_

 

Quietly, Bucky says “Do you know, Steve? Do you know what it is? Would you even know your own song if you heard it?”

 

Shamed, his best friend shakes his head.

 

“If there are loved ones in the glory for anybody, Steve, it’s you,” Tony says, unusually somber.

 

“It’s you, pal,” Bucky says, soft and intense, holding out a hand. “C’mon. Don’t make me do this without you. Please.”

 

“Make us,” Bruce corrects, briefly looking into Steve’s eyes. “This isn’t going to work if there isn’t a complete set of six.”

 

Hesitant and afraid, Steve lays down his hand. Just as before, Steve is cobalt blue, the color of the deepest seas.

 

Elizabeth is husky and emotional, both sad and hopeful in her grief. _“There are loved ones, in the glory, whose dear forms you…often miss…”_

They all wait, holding their breath for the next song.

 

_“Please love me, honey, till the day I die!”_

_“This is my big hello! Cause I’m here and never letting go!”_

_“He reads yesterday’s news…cause today’s just scares him…”_

_“I wanna a…a love that’s on the square…”_

_“Want my time? Well, I’m willing!”_

 

There is a heavy, stunned silence. None of the six of them really expected this – that’s quite obvious.

 

Sleepily a voice comes from the sofa. “Aren’t you supposed to put them together?”

 

Gruffly, Tony says “Go back to sleep, Peter.”

 

They glance over as Peter sits up and rubs his eyes and to their joint surprise, Wanda is curled up next to him. They are both watching the older adults. “But we want to see,” Wanda says quietly, her chin resting on her knees. “You all have such lovely songs. They’re…romantic?”

 

The question is directed at Peter, who yawns widely and nods. “It’s kind cute. Isn’t that how you’re supposed to know? If you mix all of them together and each of you sing instead of just one person?”

 

It’s a…simplified explanation, but close enough. Tony nods reluctantly. “Theoretically that’s how it would work.”

 

“On the count of three?” Bruce suggests quietly.

 

“Three…” Clint says eagerly.

 

“Two,” Bucky says, eyes wide with a wonder that keeps humming through him.

 

“One,” Natasha finishes, and their hands all come down.

 

There is barely enough room for all them on the console – especially as five of the six of them are men. The swirl of color is mesmerizing to look at, almost jewel-like – amethyst, emerald, sapphire, ruby, silver, and gold.

 

The gold wins – which is unsurprising to Tony because Bucky is chronologically, if not biologically, the eldest of them.

 

And what follows is a song that is supposed to represent not Bucky himself, but the way he feels about all of them.

 

The song is done slow, languid, syrupy, with a suggestive and throbbing beat in the background. Partway through the first line, Tony and Clint both recognize what the song is, although it’s a cover they’ve never heard, and Clint starts giggling, somewhere between nervous and titillated.

 

_“Baby take off your coat…real...slow._

_And take off your shoes…here, I’ll take your shoes._

_Baby, take off your dress, yes, yes, yes!_

_You can leave your hat on.”_

 

Bucky’s face gets redder and redder. Apparently, his songs have a tendency of being…more intimate than the listener would intend. The way it’s sang doesn’t help – Tony is familiar with the Joe Cocker and Tom Jones versions and those are big, showy songs, the product of their eras. Honestly, now that he’s heard it, he prefers this version. This is showy, but the singer purrs and croons through his lyrics rather than going for the flashy top notes.

 

Steve is blushing so hard by the end that Tony starts wondering if he’s about to have an aneurysm or a stroke. Miraculously, it gets even worse when his own songs starts.

 

“Oh my god, _really_?” he demands. “Are you joking?”

 

Mostly, he’s trying to cover up how hard he heart is pounding. This could work, this could actually work.

 

“You shut up,” Clint barks. “This is a fucking classic, you heathen!”

 

“It’s cliché,” Bruce tells Steve apologetically. “But it’s also the ultimate love song.”

 

_“Oh, my love, my darling!_

_I’ve hungered for your touch!_

_A long, lonely time._

_And time…goes by, so slowly._

_And time can do…so much._

_Are you still mine?”_

 

The green flares to life and a woman’s voice murmurs

 

_“I know you parted the ocean_

_I watched you tumblin’ down_

_Hands out boy, it’s safe in the water_

_Remember, you’re lost till you’re found_

_Hawk fly, tiger run_

_That’s all we should want._

_Hunter grab your gun._

_What do you want?_

_What do you want?”_

 

Then Natasha says “Oh, I see. I assume Clint is hawk. Am I tiger?”

 

Bruce nods minutely.

 

“James would be the hunter then. And Steve parted the ocean. Tony…?”

 

Tony’s heart gives another painful throb, waiting for Bruce to answer. “Talking to strangers.” With fond smile “And always stays wild, but never too young.”

 

Tony has been trying to distract himself from how nervous he is about the revelation of his own voice, about voicing his own opinions.

 

Probably they’re expecting something slathered in sex and longing, like Bucky.

 

_“Here I stand, head in hand_

_Turn my face to the wall_

_If she’s gone I can’t go on_

_Feeling two foot small_

_Everywhere people stare_

_Each and every day_

_I can see them laugh at me_

_And I hear them say:_

_Hey! You’ve got to hide your love away…”_

 

Steve stares at Tony searchingly. The shorter man looks of to the side, watching Peter and Wanda, who are swaying and singing on the sofa. He can’t help but remember what that article said. _They have been burned before, and often._

 

Tony has spent the majority of his life in the public eye and was constantly criticized no matter what he did. Why wouldn’t he feel that he needs to hide what he feels? The way he feels about them, most of all.

 

They all know what it means, and sorrow keeps their mouths tightly closed.

 

Clint’s more upbeat, with the kind of earthy, sexy feel that resembles Bucky, but more modern.

 

_“Oh, babe! I don’t wanna lie_

_I’m gonna take what you’re giving_

_Cause I know you’re willing_

_To take me all the way_

_You got me here…_

_Combostible!_

_And I can’t wait to finally explode…_

_The big, big BANG!_

_The reason I’m alive_

_When all the stars collide_

_In this universe inside!”_

 

“Subtle,” Natasha says dryly, and he shrugs.

 

Steve also recalled Clint’s psychological profile, that he was without romance or poetry, but filled with loyalty, and turned away from mind games. Personally, he didn’t see what was so bad about that.

 

Natasha’s song was…Natasha. Just…so, so Natasha.

_“I’m not Snow White, but I’m lost inside this forest!_

_I’m not Red Riding Hood, but I think the wolves have got me…_

_Don’t wantcha stilettos, I’m not-not Cinderella!_

_I don’t need a knight, so baby, take-off-all-your-armor!_

_I don’t believe in fairytales, I don’t believe in fairytales_

_I don’t believe in fairytales – but I believe in you and me…_

_Take me to Wonderland.”_

 

Small hints of vulnerability within cynical and independent assertions.

 

Tony eyes her at the armor comment and Natasha gives a slow, mysterious smile that makes him gulp, somewhere between arousal and pure terror.

 

Peter and Wanda clap with excitement, delighted by the music.

 

“Alright, you’ve had your fun,” Tony says pointedly. “Time for bed, kids.”

 

Playfully, Peter whines “Aw, Tony!”

 

“No ‘aw, Tony!’. It’s almost four a.m. Everybody should go to bed.”

 

It appeared the engineering genius was spooked, because he vacated the room immediately afterward.

 

Clint stares at the empty doorway. “Okay, we’re not letting him get away with that bullshit, are we?”

 

Bucky smiles grimly and Bruce says “No, Clint, no, we are not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New songs introduced in this chapter are "You Can Leave Your Hat On" by Jack Lukeman, "Unchained Melody" by the Righteous Brothers, "Hawk Fly Tiger Run" by Ofelia K, "You've Got to Hide Your Love Away" by the Beatles, "The Big Bang" by the Rock Mafia, and "Wonderland" by Natalia Kills.
> 
> Sorry that last one was just too fucking perfect XD


	6. (don't) fear the reaper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> General warning for bad and weird stuff that goes on in the Red Room. Finally earning our rating! And as always, Sergeant Potty Mouth is here.

Tony’s head feels heavy, slow. Like someone cracked open his skull, poured out the gray matter, and filled the empty space with rocks instead. ‘Overwhelming’ doesn't even begin to describe this day – er, night.

 

He can’t deal with it, doesn’t want to go through the mix of emotions he wants to pretend he’s not having right now. He has them, all of them, and they have him apparently. Tony knows each of them well enough by now – they will include him simply for the sake of keeping all six of them together, no matter how poorly they fit. Natasha in particular, he suspects, would do just about anything. In a way, she already has – he doesn’t think the team would even be reunited without Natasha’s efforts to make Steve and Tony talk to each other again.

 

Not that he and Steve didn’t do the work of talking it out. Steve may be their de facto leader, but Natasha is one who has knit them together, with Thor and Bruce’s supportive assistance along the way.

 

If that means swallowing through his presence in their lives, he suspects that they will each do it, for no other reason than ensuring that have the correct six. That doesn’t mean he must endure their indifference or outright distaste. If they are civil, he will keep his silence and his loneliness and remain in good stead. He has no problem with continuing to protect them and work with them, but he doesn’t wish to suffer through watching them have what he wants, to face knowing that he is considered the imperfect piece in this puzzle.

 

Tony collapses into bed, face down, for some well-deserved rest and is out almost as soon as his body hits the bed.

\---

He isn’t actually sure of what wakes him up. It could be the light coming from the tablet, it could be the intense heat that comes from being surrounded by five other people, or it could be the massive body half-draped over him. The massive body with a semi curled around him like an octopus. _Jesus, Steve._

 

Tony never would’ve pegged him for a cuddler.

 

It’s still dark, which is unsurprising – he has Friday blackout the windows until he declares himself awake, so anywhere from a few hours to half a day could have passed by now.

 

On his other side, the side he is facing, Natasha is reading on a tablet. Oddly she seems to switch back and forth between a fashion magazine and some sort of news outlet, going from one to the other every time whatever she sees fails to hold her interest. Tony discovers when she moves up and down slightly, that her pillow is actually a wall of flesh. Barton, he realizes, judging from the purple bow and arrow sweatpants. Tony did not know he had abs like that. _Jesus, Clint._

 

He assumes that somewhere on Natasha’s other side are Bucky and Bruce, since he knows he’s not far enough from the edge to have more than one person behind him, especially when that one person is Steve-sized. “Dare I ask why you’re all in my room?” he asks hoarsely. “In my bed?”

 

As he thought, Natasha is not startled by voice, confirming his suspicion that she already knew he was awake. She shrugs, shifting higher on the bed, unbothered by the fact that she momentarily elbows Clint in the ribs. Clint is equally unbothered by this, judging from his continued snoring. “We wanted to talk to you, but when we followed you, you were already asleep and we didn’t want to leave. Bruce wanted to leave you alone, and Steve didn’t. We put it to a vote.”

 

_This is what my life has become – a strange place where potential sexual partners are suddenly their own democratic state, because there are FIVE of them, for god’s sake._

 

“Besides,” she continues blithely. “YOU have the biggest bed.”

 

Which sort of implies that wherever they planned on sleeping, it wasn’t going to be separately. “Uh…did you…I mean not that I wouldn’t mind a free show, but you didn’t fuck each other in this bed with my unconscious body on it, did you?”

 

“You’re into some kinky weird shit, Tony. Whatever floats your boat,” Clint mutters. Natasha lifts herself so that he has a moment to roll over, before apparently going back to sleep.

 

“That would be a solid no,” she clarifies, sounding almost amused. “We were lucky Clint managed to make it all the way back to the room as it was.” Her eyes glitter in the darkness, the harsh light of the tablet making her face ethereal and deadly. “Personally, I wouldn’t mind that ‘free show’ you were talking about.”

 

“Uh…well, I’m bisexual, so no problems there, but you haven’t shown an interest in anything without a voltage meter in the entire time I’ve known you. Barnes and Noble are from a time when sucking a dick was literally illegal, Barton’s the straightest dude bro I know, and Brucie-bear hasn’t shown an interest in anything more hardcore than a hard-drive since I’ve known him.”

 

Natasha may or may not have had a snappy comeback for that – they’ll never know. From behind him is a dark chuckle and the arm around his waist tightens a little.

 

She watches with keen hunger as Tony’s mouth drops open, eyes fluttering shut as the dick nestled between ass-cheeks hardens to a thick pleasing stiffness. Wow. Wow. That is…bigger than expected. And he was expecting big. A keening whine comes out of his open mouth as he’s nudged into a different angle, so that instead of rubbing up against his ass, it’s rubbing into his balls and teasing over his hole through the two layers of fabric separating them.

 

He freezes when from all the way on the other side of the bed, Steve growls “Buck, I swear to god if you make him come while we’re half asleep with the lights off, I’m gonna take your _other_ arm off.”

 

Oh shit. He assumed Bucky would want to be as far from him as possible.

 

Natasha can see the way Tony’s widen when Bucky whispers in his ear. “Oh, but he’s such a good boy,” he murmurs, hoarse and cracked after hours asleep, and Tony grits his teeth and turns his face into the pillow to suppress his whining. “ _Fuck yes_ , Tony – move your hips, baby.”

 

Natasha swats Bucky on the head from around Tony’s body. “Stop that. This is a good show – they deserve to see it, too. Besides, if we have the lights on, Friday can record it.”

 

“Why the hell would we want that?” Clint mumbles from the depths of his pillows.

 

Bruce shocks all of them by answering “To watch later.”

 

“Lights, Friday,” Tony gasps loudly, throwing his head back as Bucky reaches beneath him with the chilly prosthetic to play with his tightened nipples.

 

Gladly, Friday turns up the lights slowly so they aren't blinded instantly and Clint, watching Bucky snarl with lust and curve his teeth over Tony’s neck, yells “Record this, Friday!”

 

“You got it, Agent Barton."

 

“Oh my god!” They’re watching him, Tony realizes. He can hear the sound of them shifting around, probably so that they can all see exactly what Bucky is doing to him, but he can’t open his eyes. He feels like he’s going to explode, dissolve into nothing more than atoms. Nothing so basic should feel this good, especially since they aren’t even naked. “Fuck-fuck-oh-fuck!”

 

Bucky continues to whisper in his ear, drawing a flush of embarrassed arousal across his chest. “You are a good boy, aren’t you?” he purrs, just barely touching Tony’s neck with the sharp edges of his teeth. “A needy, greedy boy. My favorite. God, the way you work those hips, Tony. You love it, don’t you, baby? Are you imagining me inside you?”

 

“Jesus, where did you ever get a mouth like that?” Steve mutters. He doesn’t sound disturbed – in fact, he sounds like he's picturing that very thing. 

“Mary mother of god,” Bruce chokes, sounding way more interested than his hard-drive. Maybe Bruce only gets up for the kinky shit.

 

“Answer me,” Bucky hisses at Tony, pinching his nipples.

 

And Tony cries “Yes, fuck, yes” as he comes, his eyes opening in shock as the feeling hits him.

 

The other four are watching as he suspected earlier, and he yelps as Steve lunges forward. To his greater shock, the captain yanks Tony’s pants down and licks him clean with a wet and eager tongue, becoming gentler as Tony whimpers and gets more and more sensitive. Steve rubs his face over his groin and Tony, blissed out beyond belief, threads his fingers through the blonde hair and stares up at his own ceiling. He starts operating under the assumption that this whole thing is a dream, because there’s no way his childhood crush brought him off in his pajama bottoms and his childhood hero licked him clean afterwards.

 

Voiced filled with gravel, Clint says “Fuck, Steve.”

 

“I can smell him,” he growls. “I can smell all of you.”

 

Natasha makes an odd squeaking noise that seems out of character and Bucky gives a gentle kiss to Tony’s neck, glancing up at her with a heavy-lidded stare. He did not come with Tony, but also doesn’t seem too fussed by it. “Sense of smell is a lot more sensitive, isn’t it, pal? Especially when you know they want it. Natalia here smells like breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I think I'd like to have Bruce and Clint for dessert."

 

Natasha is curiously both flushed and pale at once. “So, you do remember.”

 

“Fuck, yes, I remember.” He inhales sharply, nostrils widening. To everyone’s fascination, Bucky says “Can you smell her, Steve?” He lowers his head, once again reminding them of his Wakandan nickname. “I could just _eat her up_.”

 

She watches Steve in horrified arousal. Steve, who has never looked in her direction, who is the definition of a proper gentleman, flares his nostrils and stares at her with dilated pupils, rumbling “I smell her.”

 

Then Bucky tells them a story. It’s a dirty story, which is Tony’s favorite, but it’s also kind of sad, which is definitely not.

\---

In 2001, Bucky was awake for six months and sent to a house in Moscow. In that old house, young women were trained in many things. Espionage, murder, stealth, surveillance. And they _were_ young women. The youngest was barely sixteen, and the eldest just past twenty.

 

Bucky tested each of them for their fighting skills and they were all very good, very skilled.

 

He also tested other things. Not fighting or shooting or sneaking around. No, Bucky tested their endurance. Their resilience to torture and coercion. But he didn’t hit them or beat them or shove needles under their fingernails.

 

They were each given a code or password that they were required to keep secret, and Bucky was brought to their rooms. There, he would slip his hand down their panties and use every trick he’d ever learned to break them into giving it up. The moment he sensed they were near the edge, he’d back off.

 

Bucky was not allowed use anything but his hands and he was also not allowed to remove any clothing – either theirs or his own. If he tried to touch himself, he was punished for it. If he made any of the girls come, he was punished for that, too, though less severely.

 

None of them could pass that first day. Ekaterina and Yevgenia, the oldest two in the group, passed in the first week.

 

But one of them couldn’t pass, no matter how hard she tried.

 

Yegor, the male head trainer, was absolutely baffled. She was the best in the class, the most skilled girl, and the fiercest fighter. She was not the youngest, but she was the smallest and she had red, red hair. Natalia, they called her.

 

Natalia was Bucky’s favorite.

 

On the first day, she begged after just six minutes and her time didn’t improve a whole lot from there. She wanted it so bad she’d soak her panties just watching him walk into the room, and he could smell that scent for miles.

 

Bronislava, the female head trainer, made him sleep in the room right next to her.

 

Natalia was forbidden to masturbate after they took him away. It was her punishment, you see, for not being able to pass her test. All night long, Bucky’s nose was filled with the smell of her, her body dripping wet and throwing off pheromones. Also forbidden to bring himself off and loaded with drugs to keep him compliant, Bucky would spend his nights clawing furiously at the wall that separated them.

 

Eventually, he realized what Bronislava was really doing.

 

Many in the Red Room considered the Winter Soldier project finished after the five other volunteers had been given the stolen serum.

 

In some ways, Bucky was easier to control than his more willing brethren, but most thought of him as an inferior product, broken and unreliable.

 

Getting him to attack and assault Natalia would be the perfect way to prove that they should put him down like a bad dog.

 

Bucky tried everything he could think of to get her to pass, prowling around to scare and intimidate her, but the edge of fear actually seemed to excite her more, and he couldn’t quite resist giving her what she wanted. The first time he disobeyed, he made Natalia come on his fingers…twice. The second time was even more severe. He jammed the door shut, forced her to the ground and pushed down her pants.

 

“I remember. It was her birthday that very day. November 22nd. She was seventeen. And I did exactly what I wanted to do to her for the past six months – I ate that sweet little girl’s pussy. I ate out her goddamn brains, until she was crying,” Bucky growls, staring straight at Natasha. “God, she tasted good. Sugar and spice and everything nice.”

 

Clint feels her shudder beside him. Terror, or lust, he wasn’t sure. He was certain even Natasha didn’t know. Not certain it would matter either way. One went hand in hand with the other, it seemed.

 

They had him dragged back into cold storage after that, because Yegor had also figured out what Bronislava was doing, and his calculations were better than hers. He was clever enough to realize what would _actually_ happen if they continued to expose the Soldier to Natalia – he would likely break through his conditioning for her and then he would make them all very, very sorry. The fact that Natalia was less than unwilling also seemed to escape her notice.

 

Finishing his tale, Bucky asks her “Did you ever pass?”

 

“As soon as they switched you out without someone else,” she says faintly, still somehow flushed and pale at the same time.

 

Steve is still staring at her with huge pupils, and she feels like a small creature being hunted by a very large predator. Worse still, it’s not a feeling she hates. Not from this man, who would protect her with everything he has. Bleed for her, die for her, kill for her. Her body is perfectly still, and she wonders what he would do if she were to run. Running was the worst thing you could do when a predator stares you down. They couldn’t resist the instinct to chase.

 

Steve doesn’t seem wholly himself right now – _or maybe_ , Natasha thinks, looking into that hungry stare, _maybe this actually is Steve. Maybe this is the Steve who’s let himself go down into that place where physical urges rule the mind and body. Who allows desire to flood through his veins. Unfiltered and unvarnished by the higher ideals of justice and equality and good._

 

Clint, blunt as ever, breaks through the haze of sexual tension by staring straight at Bruce and saying “If I say I want your dick in my mouth, is that a problem?”

 

Tony starts cackling. “This is the best dream I’ve ever had!”


	7. I can't see anyone but you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These people have a mind of their own, and I'm just no longer questioning it, okay. Several of these have very strong d/s undertones, including restraining, comeplay, and a bit of reluctance/dub-con play. Everything is 100% consensual, but needless to say, please don't try this at home without talking to your partner :) 
> 
> Be safe, kids.

Having decided that this a really fucking good dream, Tony rolls over, pushes Bucky down flat on his back, and straddles him – though he doubts he could’ve accomplished any of this without Bucky’s willing participation. Then Tony starts grinding down on that dick like he means it. And goddamn, does he mean it. “Oh fuck, oh fuck,” Bucky groans beneath him, bucking his hips and baring his teeth in a feral smile. “Come on, baby, gimme some sugar.”

 

He doesn’t understand what he means until Bucky grabs Tony by the back of the hair and leads his mouth down, sucking slow and hungry on Tony’s bottom lip, until he whimpers and jerks his hips harder. Clint growls at the sound coming from Tony’s mouth, a low steady ‘uh!’ as he arches above him.

 

“ _Baby_ ,” Bucky groans. “A fuckin’ bombshell is what you are.”

 

To both their surprise, when Tony breathes “James” against his cheek, his mouth prickled by the rough hairs, Bucky comes, gasping, with both hands gripping Tony’s ass hard.

 

“Holy shit,” Bruce whispers appreciatively and Clint growls “Pants. Off. Now.”

 

“I can’t,” he replies helplessly, though he sounds more tempted than Tony has ever heard. “I’ll change, Clint – the Other Guy won’t stay down.”

 

“Ooh, you shouldn’t have told me that,” Clint purrs. “Thor told me the Jolly Green is hung like an _elephant_. Challenge fucking accepted.” Bruce was not the only one who looked astonished. “Who’s the straight dude bro now, Stark?” Clint smirks. “I mean it, Banner, dick and balls out.”

 

“Clothes off,” Steve commands, in a deep voice that makes the hair on the back of everyone’s neck stand up.

 

Natasha knows they will be next – Steve is only ever patient for tactical reasons. A tight, delicious dread builds her. She doesn’t know what he will do, what he will want, and that only adds to her excitement.

 

As yesterday, Bruce’s hands shake as he sits at the center of the bed, slipping his sweatpants down and shoving his shirt off over the side. The good doctor is lean, cock pulsing with the beat of his heart, with a soft patch of dark chest hair that Clint eagerly runs his hands over. With a pointed, impatient growl from Steve, Clint yanks his own shirt off his head and shoves his pants down.

 

“I’d tell you to keep your pants on, Cap, but please feel free to take them off, too.” Clint snarks, running his hands up Bruce’s slender thighs. Their eyes meet as Clint breathes warm air across his cock. Bruce had never realized before now that the archer has such green eyes.

 

“Why me?” he asks hoarsely, arching sharply off the bed as Clint begins kissing his way down Bruce’s chest. He hasn’t been touched in nearly fourteen years – the feeling of it now, by, _god_ , by his _soulmate_ , is electric, maddening, overwhelming.

 

“Because,” Clint murmurs, sucking gently at his ribs. “I love the quiet ones. I love making the quiet ones…not quiet.”

 

As eager as he was for Bruce to be undressed, Clint is not in a hurry to make good on all those promises.

 

The rest of the four watch them, entranced and almost reverent. Just like Bucky and Tony, the moment feels too sacred to interrupt, but is also too riveting to look away from. They are eager and captive witnesses, priests to a strange new religion in which they are the only worshippers.

 

Clint holds his wrists down, rubbing his cheek against the thick patch of chest hair, like an animal, primal with the scent of sex and musk pervading the room. It’s nearly a taste in the back of his mouth now. Bruce gasps and sighs loudly as he makes his leisurely way downward, sucking lurid bruises into the thin skin of his inner thighs and idly thumbing his nipples. Bruce is already begging, a soft hushed litany to the bedroom ceiling. “Please, please, oh, please.”

 

“We’re gonna be just fine, baby. I’ll get ya there, nice and easy.” Bruce watches slow Clint’s smile, all full of teeth, and shudders, melting into the sheets below him. Either way, he is helpless. There is no danger here, only terrible pleasure.

 

“He tastes good, doesn’t he?” Bruce jerks his head to the side, nearly falling into the darkness of Tony’s gaze.

 

Clint groans around Bruce’s cock in response, and Tony licks his lips.

 

The four are hungry, ravenous, watching Bruce tremble with every flick of the tongue over veins and blood-hot skin. “Clint, oh g-god, hurry, hurry up!” he cries out, thrashing against the strong hold on his wrists. “ _He’s gonna come out_ , oh god it feels too good, I can’t stop it!”

 

Clint makes an absolutely obscene slurping sound as his mouth slides off of Bruce’s cock. “No, he won’t,” he says cheekily, eyes green and mesmerizing. “Because if he comes out now – best case scenario? His dick would dislocate my jaw and probably remove some of my teeth. But the Big Guy would never hurt me, would you, pal?”

 

Amazingly, unbelievably, Clint goes right back to his self-appointed task even as he knows the all too real dangers present. Even more unbelievably, the Hulk has ceased trying to escape. Bruce realizes too late that this only means that Clint can prolong his torture for as long as he likes.

 

He begs, he moans, he pleads to be released from this delicious torment. If Clint senses that he’s getting closer than he’d like, he pulls away. Licks at his balls, traces secret patterns all over his thighs and chest, even raises his wrists above his head so he can kiss Bruce. His mouth is just as slow, just as unhurried and precise as it is on his cock. But he’s breathing hard, too hard for a bit of kissing. “Steve,” Clint rasps raggedly. “Get your ass over here.”

 

Clint points to a spot beside them and Steve, maybe sensing the hint of impatience in his voice, silently obeys.

 

Bruce comes, still pleading in hoarse whispers, the soft wet sweetness of Clint’s tongue cupped to the underside of his dick. He’s too blissed out to realize what he’s doing until they all watch Clint turn, grab Steve by the hair and slip his tongue, covered in semen, into his mouth.

 

Apparently, Steve is a closet come-slut, because he plunges his tongue into Clint’s mouth, licking at every last trace, until Clint pushes him back. “You want more?” he demands, and Steve nods desperately, cheeks red and eyes glazed. Clint uses the grip on his hair to force him down on his knees in front of him. With his sly grin, Clint says “Open your mouth if you want it, Stevie.”

 

Steve’s mouth drops open immediately, and with a few quick expert strokes, Clint gives him exactly what he wants. And this time it’s fresh, metallic across the tongue, and bitter-salty as Steve licks it from his lips. He loves the taste, the scent of them all. Clint allows Steve to clean him off, to feel the silky hot skin in his mouth.

 

Clint giggles with the strange agony of over-sensitivity, his nerves unable to decide if the sensation is painful or ticklish.

 

But Steve’s sensitive nose means that he can also pick up the smell of ever-increasing arousal, the musky scent that’s now become recognizable as Natasha. In a room full of slowing heartrates, hers is the only one that stands out because it’s the one beating faster, harder.

 

He turns to Natasha slowly, feeling her eyes on him. He can smell her, dripping wet and sweating with fear. Steve knows he should probably find that disgusting, or at least off-putting, and maybe if he had ordinary human senses, he might’ve. But he doesn’t. And he doesn’t.

 

He really, really doesn’t.

 

The moment Steve stands up again, his eyes are locked on Natasha.

 

The green of her eyes is nearly obscured by her pupils, and her breathing and heartbeat seem like the loudest things in the room to Steve. He can see why Buck spent every night clawing the walls if this was what the experience was like. Steve knows exactly what would happen to any person who tried to separate him from her right now. He can’t imagine having to endure that every day for six months.

 

The first step forward in her direction makes Natasha back away and Steve cocks his head.

 

Her actions say ‘I’m scared’, but everything else is telling him ‘fuck me!’. Huh. Bucky did mention that when he tried scaring her, the fear only seemed to get her more excited.

 

He edges a little closer, stalking, prowling like a lion.

 

He is startled when she turns and leaps, trying to scramble across the bed and away from him.

 

Natasha is disappointed when he does not follow, does not give chase. She thinks that Steve doesn’t want to do this with her. Or maybe doesn’t understand.

 

James knew.

 

She remembers her birthday, too. She cried and begged him not to touch her, quivering with lust the whole time. James always knew, somehow, when she really meant it and when she didn’t.

 

Natasha is disappointed and makes it halfway across the room when her chest hits the floor.

 

Steve had cleared the whole bed within a single leap, and pushed her to the ground, snagging both of her tiny wrists with just one of his hands, and presses his weight down on her. The height difference is so great between them that his cock should be sitting somewhere near her lower back if he were leaning over her. But Steve is bracketing her hips with his thighs, forcing her to feel every inch of him, right where she throbs for it.

 

Natasha smothers a moan into the plush carpeting.

 

When he speaks, Steve’s voice is nearly unrecognizable. He never sounds that dark, that sharp. Not with her. “Did you just try to run from me, Natasha?”

 

She swallows and shakes her head, unable to find her own voice.

 

Steve twists his wrist, wrapping her hair around his hand and pulling at it. She sobs as he forces her head up and back. “Excuse me? What did you say?”

 

Bucky grins.

 

He’s missed this.

 

What most people don’t know about Steve Rogers is that he has always, and Bucky really does mean _always_ , been a bit of an asshole. However, at five-four and a hundred pounds soaking wet, Steve was the most spiteful little shit alive. Gaining the muscle and the means to carry out his anger at the injustice of the world had mellowed him out. Like…by a whole lot, actually.

 

Bucky is happy to see that savage little wolverine of a boy hasn’t completely disappeared, even if he isn’t so little anymore.  

 

“N-no,” Natasha gasps, shuddering as she meets Clint’s eyes from across the room. They can all see her this way. Steve pushes his hips against her, rubbing his cock over her, powerful and possessive, and this time she is unable to smother the moaning. Any ideas she had that maybe he would not notice how wet she is have quickly faded. “I wasn’t running away.”

 

He knows, just like James. Somehow, he knows.

 

Beneath him, Natasha wriggles around, testing Steve’s hold on her wrists. He can’t even call it struggling – he knows Natasha, and this is not struggling. It’s more like squirming than anything else, and he punishes her for it, shoving her back down to the floor and pushing his weight down. She’s already panting and he can feel the wet spot she’s made on her own bottoms start to soak through his, too.  

 

He’s not sure if he would ever dare to do this with another woman, but if anyone could choose to stop him if she wanted to, it’s Natasha. Hell, if Natasha wanted to, she could probably have their positions completely reversed.

 

“Are you gonna behave yourself now?” he breathes, letting go of her hair so that he can get a hand beneath her.

 

“I’ll be g-good,” she croaks, still shuddering. She sobs at a heavy hot palm cupping her breasts through the silk of her pajamas.

 

“That’s good,” Steve murmurs and rips the garment straight off her. “Because you know if you’re lying to me, I have to punish you.”

 

Her horrified gasp is not entirely dramatized, particularly when his hand grabs her at the front of the throat and pulls her up again, making Natasha show off her enforced nudity. “Don’t,” she chokes, but pushes herself down against the length of his dick. Mewls pathetically despite herself. “D-don’t.”

 

She doesn’t have the brain power to be ashamed, and she’s glad. She hasn’t let herself want this. Couldn’t let herself want it. The Red Room tried to train it out of her, and Natasha was too afraid of being trapped. In her profession, this kind of enjoyment was too risky for a woman in her position, even after joining SHIELD.

 

But if ever a man were trustworthy, it’s Steve.

 

“Come on, Natasha,” he whispers, hand tightening at her throat. “Give us a nice show, sweetheart.”

 

Natasha’s eyes close. She’s never been this close to facing what she wants before. She has to remind herself that she is safe. “S-Steve, no,” she pleads, shoving her hips down on his substantial girth. Giving him what he wants anyway. The fabric between them is thin, but it’s still too much for her. “I’ll-I’ll be good, Steve, please. Please. Touch me.”

 

Her blood is on fire and she would do anything to have it quenched right now. Her face burns as Steve at last releases his hold on her wrists so that he can yank her panties down and show the whole room that she is dripping, the triangle of red curls between her legs dark with slick.

 

Steve teases her outer labia, gently stroking the swollen wet skin before abruptly plunging two fingers into her body. Natasha jerks and whimpers, Steve’s hand tightening on her throat in a silent warning. His hands – his fingers – are _enormous_ and it’s everything. Everything she wanted, and she wails when Steve takes the back out, showing four other men the fluid dripping from his hand with a smirk.

 

Clint murmurs “Jesus Christ, Tasha.”

 

Steve licks her off his fingers with an appreciative hum. “Mm. Buck was right – sugar, spice, and everything nice.” Natasha shudders, tears finally slipping free at the corners of her eyes. Steve does not let go of her throat, but his hold is looser, and whispers “Shake your head to stop and nod to keep going, sweetheart.”

 

She nods frantically. There’s no way she’s stopping now – not when she’s getting every dark, secret thought that ever been in her head. (And Steve STILL checks up on her, because of course he does.)

 

She’s still crying as he forces her through two fast climaxes, one rolling on top of the other. It’s nearly painful – Steve either doesn’t have the skills to tease or it’s his intent to make the pleasure as brutal as possible. He doesn’t allow her to cool down or rest, keeps thrusting into her past the oversensitivity of orgasm, until she goes limp against him.

 

He drops her carelessly (or seemingly carelessly, since she falls on the bed) and Natasha lays there in a daze, hearing the sound of Steve removing his clothes.

 

“God bless America,” Tony whispers fervently. Steve is a lot. Just…A LOT.

 

He maneuvers her like a doll, like a toy for his use, dragging her to the edge of the mattress and shoving her onto her back. Natasha shudders. It’s even more intense having to actually see the way he looms over her, see the power of his form towering above her body. God bless America, indeed.

 

Steve wipes the corners of her eyes, whispering “Nod or shake.”

 

As she nods, the hot, heavy weight of his cock drags over her mound, the silky skin rubbing deliciously over her clit and labia.

 

He pins her there like a butterfly on a cork board, one hand back on her throat, rolling his hips however fast or slow he pleases, ignoring any pleas Natasha makes for his mercy.

 

He has none. “I want you to know that whatever happens next, you can’t stop me.”

 

She assumes that he will fuck her at some point, but she’s halfway to number three when he finishes, growling as he rubs against her aching wet pussy, painting her with his come up to her heaving breasts. She sobs as he pulls away, fresh tears falling because her cunt is on fire, but he’s just going to leave her this way.

 

Steve suckles her, flicks his tongue over her tight throbbing nipples, laps at his own semen streaked over her skin. Bites at her breasts and cleans up her belly, forces her legs as far apart as possible and lets all of them watch him spread her open and eat her out.

 

Natasha is thrashing and bucking around, but Steve was right – there isn’t anything she can do to stop, speed up, or slow down this process.

 

When she begins shaking her head back and forth, panting hard, Bucky gleefully says “She’s close, pal!”

 

Steve slides his fingers in again and she whimpers, still frantically shake her head. “ _No, no, no, no_.”

 

“Yes, yes, yes, baby girl,” Bucky growls. “Steve, you better fucking finish what’s on your plate or I’ll do it for you!”

 

Steve snarls at him, jealous of his captured prize, and draws the edges of his teeth over her clit, just the lightest bit of pressure, and Natasha loses it, screaming as she comes.

 

Once her pulse has calmed down and her mind is no longer somewhere in the stratosphere, she can hear Tony say “A man shouldn’t be ready to go again at my age. I blame all of you.”

 

Clint grins at him wolfishly. “Pick a partner, any partner.”


	8. anything you want (you got it)

Anthony Stark wakes to find that his face is buried between a pair of what are possibly the most perfect breasts he’s ever seen. And in his case, this is saying something, because Anthony Stark has slept with women literally known for them.

 

That’s admittedly less strange than the face planted in his crotch. A male face, judging by all the stubble, and Tony’s squirming around appeared to be encouraging them to explore their current environment.

 

Oh god.

 

It wasn’t a dream.

 

He looks down to his crotch to see the head nuzzling his morning wood has hair the color of corn-silk but the rest of their body wasn’t nearly large enough to be Steve. Clint. Tony’s head, on the other hand, was pillowed on Natasha’s absolutely _divine_ tits. The curly head of hair behind her likely belongs to Bruce and there was someone behind Tony who seemed to consider his ass to be their personal resting place – and they have _huge_ fucking hands, but neither of them were metal. Steve.

 

Which left one member of the weird little group unaccounted for. Probably because he was perched on Tony’s headboard, eating a bowl of fruit loops. He isn’t sure when Bucky acquired boxers or cereal.

 

“Share,” Tony demands hoarsely. “And help me find whoever fed us sex pollen.”

 

Clint breathes warm air over his cock as he spoke. Not as asleep as he looked, then. “I don’t think you can blame grinding on Bucky’s dick like a pro stripper on aliens or plants or alien plants.”

 

Tony hisses at Clint’s hands traveling over his thighs, pulling him down to lie flat on the mattress. “Why not?”

 

“Because first of all,” Clint leers, sitting up slightly to lean over Tony. Whispering in Tony’s ear “I want some of that, too.”

 

His thumbs trace chilling lines over his hipbones as Tony stares at him, wide-eyed and wondering what the fuck has gotten into his teammates. “Yeah? What’s got you interested all of a sudden?”

 

“Not too sudden,” Clint admits, looking Tony up and down. “But I’m a fucking professional, Tony. I don’t offer to put my dick in my co-workers. It’s one reason Natasha hasn’t tried to check me for hernias with her best knife.” He shifts his knees on either side of Tony’s hips, putting their cocks in direct alignment. He licks his lips, meeting Tony’s eyes with his own. “But now you’re mine.”

 

Clint spits into his hand and flattens his palm down. Tony twitches and moans as he moves his hips, gripping Tony by the waist. It’s been awhile since he was with a man and under normal circumstances, this would be a little college dorm room for his taste, but Clint is nothing if not good his hands and his timing.

 

Tony’s gaze is drawn to the side with a motion out of the corner of his eye and he gasps. Steve is awake now too, and watching them, jerking himself off with an air of desperation, eyes devouring them. Clint laughs, a little mean and a little tender. “You don’t even know which one you want, do you, Stevie? Givin’ it to Tony or letting me work that big dick for you.”

 

Steve whimpers and closes his eyes, caught red handed.

 

Clint turns back to Tony and rubs his cheek along his beard. “You wanna help me show off, honey? Give the old perverts something to jerk off to?” Tony can’t release his lower lip long enough to reply, biting down until they think he might bleed. If anyone would be happy to show off, they would’ve thought it was Tony. Instead, he makes quiet noises through his closed lips and Clint purrs “Oh, I see. I have to work for it, huh?”

 

 _Once again_ , Clint thinks, _challenge fucking accepted_.

 

That isn’t really the problem – Tony’s just feeling self-conscious in the light of day. But Clint apparently views sex as a winnable sport, which might be pretty questionable if he didn’t seem to think that victory was seeing how easily he could make his bedmate beg for more. “Steve, check that drawer for some lube.”

 

Tony shakes his head, gasping out “Need a condom…for intercourse!”

 

“Intercourse? What are you, my P.E. teacher? Have you been sleeping around, Anthony?”

 

He shakes his head again and taps his chest, over the faint circular scarring at his sternum where the arc reactor used to be. “Compromised…immunity…!”

 

Clint pauses to stare at him in concern. “You’re still having problems with your heart?! Tony, are you healthy enough to be doing this?”

 

“Yes!” he snaps defensively. “But I used to have a fucking hole in my heart! My medication can lower immunity.”

 

Bucky cocks his head, concentrating hard. “Hm, that’s odd. It sounds normal.”

 

Tony and Clint both gape at him, and Tony demands “You can hear my fucking heartbeat?!”

 

He grins. “Super juice is a helluva thing. Yeah, for some reason it’s a lot easier to hear the five of you. In the bad old days, I thought it was because Steve’s heart beats so fucking hard, but it’s really just you guys. Steve’s is really loud, Natasha’s beats faster than Clint’s but Tony’s is a little slower, and Bruce has a tiny skip in the middle because weird science things.”

 

On the other side of Natasha, said man snorts but stubbornly refuses to emerge from the bedsheets.

 

“Let me get this straight – you can tell us apart on nothing by our _heartbeats_?” Tony asks, feeling dazed.

 

Bucky’s shoulders hunch. “Well, yeah. And I…I can smell you.” Clint watches Tony – Tony Stark – get red in the face. It’s absolutely fucking priceless, and he will treasure it always. “We weren’t exaggerating, you know. It’s why Steve went so batshit ballistic last night – pheromones are like, ten times more effective on us and you were all here, drenched in shit that smells just like ‘I want your dick’.”

 

“So why weren’t _you_ going bananas?” Steve asks petulantly, slapping a bottle from the bedside drawer into Clint’s palm.

 

“Because the Red Room was torture for both of us, but it taught me to control myself more. I’m kind of glad in retrospect. Natasha was really young, and she would’ve let me do _anything_. Now I’m sane enough to use something other than pure instinct and she’s old enough to understand what’s really going on.”

 

Clint rolls his eyes at Tony and whispers “While the old men are arguing-” Tony smothers an inappropriate giggle and Clint grins at him fondly. “Can I please touch your dick?”

 

Tony giggles some more. “You’re a fucking dork, but yeah, you can.”

 

“Yeah?” He leans closer and breathes “Can I use my fingers on you too, honey? Make you melt, nice and sweet for me?”

 

Tony raises a brow, even if he feels his own breathing grow shallower. “When do you think I’m ever sweet, Barton?”

 

“Oh, you were _real_ sweet for me, baby,” Bucky purrs. “Maybe you just haven’t had the right _encouragement_.”

 

“Oh, I believe in proper motivation,” Clint says seriously, eyes glittering with wicked delight as he warms up the lube in his hands.

 

Tony’s heart slams against his ribs and Bucky’s grin is like a hungry wolf. _He can hear it_.

 

He had an interesting future ahead of him if two of his five soulmates could sense whenever one of them was excited just through sound and smell.

 

He hasn’t gotten a handle on the others yet, but while Bucky apparently changes his demeanor based on his partner and his own mood, Clint is playful and seems to be from the philosophy that honey is better than vinegar, at least in the bedroom.

 

Tony groans at the first slide of his hand, strong and covered in callouses but warm and slick with the lube. “Just like that?” Clint asks slyly, watching Tony push into his fist. “You been doin’ it yourself too long, haven’t you, baby?”

 

“Oh. _Fuck_. Me!” he chokes as Clint’s fingers begin gently rubbing over his hole, instinctively shifting his knees apart for him.

 

“Yeah?” He realizes Clint’s focus has sharpened on him. This must be what Bruce experienced last night – he is no longer putting on a show for the others. The world has narrowed to them alone. He starts teasing Tony open, just two finger circling the rim, coaxing him to relax.

 

He frowns when Tony goes back to biting his lips, but is satisfied with the soft continual whimpering, which gets louder with the insertion of the first finger. Jealously, Clint’s gaze wanders over the way his chest heaves. He isn’t beautifully lean like Bruce nor does he have the heart-stopping bulk of Steve and Bucky, but Tony has a mouth-watering definition to him that draws the eye and holds it there.

 

Gently, Clint works on getting his muscles to relax before brushing over the prostrate, just a friendly ‘hello’ to the few centimeters of tissue. Even that light touch has Tony hanging onto fistfuls of the sheets and pillows. The whimpers become a low grunt at the back of his throat.

 

Clint hums approvingly, feeling Tony’s thighs flex hard on either side of him, and begins stroking in time with the tense-and-release rhythm of those muscles. “No more shy stuff, Tony. You’re a peacock and I want you fucking preening for me.” Tony begins rocking back and panting and he says, mild as a kitten, “C’mon sweetheart, I can see you holding back.”

 

He sucks in a lungful of air and holds it, mouth dropping open in a silent cry before it bursts out in a gasp, thrusting harder into Clint’s grip. Desperately, he searches around the bed for something he can latch onto and is startled to grab two different hands – one massive and hot and one cool and metallic.

 

Steve and Bucky look down from the headboard, watching Tony fuck himself on Clint’s fingers, spread out underneath them – and what a sight he is! His entire body was surging up with the effort of simultaneously trying to come and trying to stop himself. They also have a front row seat for the moment he cracks. Tony’s head slams back onto the pillows and he grits out “Shit oh shit, I’m close. Clint-Clint, please. Please.”

 

Clint squeezes Tony’s cock, crowing “Give it to me, Tony, c’mon!”

 

The lower abdominals in Tony’s stomach are shown in beautiful relief as he claws frantically at the super soldiers’ hands. They know when he’s about to come – he starts moaning feverishly, thrashing between the hand around his cock and the hand in his ass. “Please, Clint, please, please, please!”

 

“I please, baby, oh yes, I please.” With a last shout, Tony practically jack-knifes off the bed, twitching uncontrollably as a pool of come forms over his lower belly.

 

Bucky has a twinkling, mischievous smile as he gestures to Tony, innocently asking “Breakfast, Stevie?”

 

Steve, the poor fool, has jerked off twice. Bucky can’t blame him – he might’ve done it, too, if he didn’t already know he’d be too distracted to finish himself off. Steve licks the traces of semen from Clint’s fingers before staring at Tony.

 

“Fuck. Fine.”

 

Unsurprisingly, eagerly having your soft dick cleaned off by Captain America isn’t any less surreal than it was last night. More so, if anything. He starts sighing halfway into it. Steve is both thorough and delicate at his work and the sensation – while he can’t quite describe it as arousing – feels pleasant and slightly filthy. “Shit,” Tony moans as he starts just leisurely tonguing his balls. “Easy on the equipment there, Steve. It’s antique.” 

 

A hot huff of air rushes over his crotch as Steve laughs, but both of their attention is diverted by the headboard creaking above them.

\---

Bucky rolls his eyes good-naturedly at Steve’s single-minded focus. Captain Come-Slut, apparently. Jesus. He crooks a finger at Clint, spreading his thighs open suggestively. “Need some help there, sailor?”

 

Clint smiles, crooked and charming, stark naked and unabashed and the fluttering it inspires underneath Bucky’s breastbone is strange and wonderful. Then again, they are _all_ strange and wonderful to his eyes. Even Steve, as familiar as he is, reveals parts of himself he never knew. “You offering, Sergeant?”

 

“Hell yes,” he breathes. “Come up here and show me a good time, Barton.”

 

To his further delight, Clint is enthusiastic about the one activity he personally thinks they’ve sorely neglected – kissing. And Barton can fucking _kiss_. Bucky doesn’t miss a whole lot about the bad ole days, but he has really missed this. Used to be, he’d get dressed up, go dancing with a pretty girl, and kiss her for _hours_. Just kissing – most of them were good girls, smart enough to need at least a ring before any hanky-panky, and he was a fucking gentleman alright?

 

 _Hot damn_ , there was an idea! If he recalled correctly, Natasha _loved_ dancing and the other men would look positively edible in suits – Banner and Stark especially had bodies made for designer tailoring. God yes, he was a genius! Steve would be awkward as fuck at first, but that was fine. Bucky could talk Thor into slipping him some of that ridiculous space booze to get him loosened up. He danced much better when his nerves weren’t there to get in the way.

 

He whispers his plan to Clint, squeezing handfuls of muscular ass, who growls “I’m only getting into a suit if I can rip it off one of you.”

 

“You can tear it off me,” Bucky promises lowly, licking the underside of his jaw. “Mm…like this, right up against the wall.”

 

“Yeah?” They stare into each other’s eyes, sexual tension crackling through the air. With Bucky sitting down on the wide ledge of the headboard and Clint standing, their crotches are in perfect alignment. Clint presses closer between his thighs, sliding his hands down the back of the boxers. “Just like this, fast and dirty?”

 

Bucky’s rational brain waves goodbye as their cocks slot together. His straining vocal chords manage a breathy “Uh-huh”, which is lost in the depths of a moan.

\---

Steve and Tony watch wide-eyed as Clint grinds into Bucky, who drapes his arms over his shoulders and pulls him in, whining at an increasingly higher pitch.

 

“I can’t last, I can’t,” Clint groans, and Bucky rakes a hand through his hair and pulls him in for a scorching kiss, messy and desperate.

 

“Harder, harder, harder,” Bucky gasps, metal hand leaving bruises on Clint’s ass, and then: “Uh!”

 

His head tips back into the wall, chin tilted up to show his bare throat. Clint swears tightly and bites him, a set of teeth marks that will likely fade in just minutes. They pull apart slightly, exhausted, sticky and sweating, to the sound of Tony whistling softly in admiration.

 

 “Now that there is some grade-A spank bank footage, ladies – er, _lady_ , and gentlemen.” A soft, breathless laugh next to him makes all four of them turn their heads. Delighted, Tony says “Oooh, cheesecake!”

 

While they were distracted by rough-and-down-to-fuck over there on the headboard, Natasha was slowly and quietly being given the orgasm that never ends by Doctor No I’m Celibate Really! Celibate he may have been, but Bruce has apparently picked up a few things while he was traveling abroad. As they watched first Tony and Clint, and then Clint and Bucky, he’d whispered “Say when, Natasha,” before slipping his hands around either side of her body and gently sliding them between her legs.

 

Stephen Strange claims to know Mystic Arts, but she’s convinced Bruce Banner is the real wizard. His fingers create a pool of sensation in her body that unspools continuously from below her navel – unstoppable, delightful, inescapable. A dozen or more tiny waves that was gradually building to one enormous tsunami that she gasps through, battered by the heavy sliding sweetness he draws from her, over and over, until she is mewling “When, when!”

 

Steve whines unhappily as Bruce lifts his hands. The man sighs but smiles and holds out his fingers, slick with fluid that Steve immediately sucks into his mouth, licking desperately like a kitten lapping milk. Bruce breathes “Shit!”

 

“Feels amazing, doesn’t it?” Tony agrees. “Just wait until he does it to your dick.”

 

At Steve’s puppy-dog eyes, Bruce shakes his head and chuckles. “Sorry, but I’m the one actually feeling my age. More than happy to watch though.”

 

Clint laughs at the utter disappointment on his face. “Poor Stevie. I teased you first, didn’t I? C’mere.”

 

He goes hesitantly, shyly, like he is not two hundred and fifty pounds of Get Reckt, but Tony can kind of understand it. Tony hasn’t had as many male partners as female, but he has had quite a few, and none of them were quite as unassumingly confident as Clint manages to be. In his experience, confident partners drifted either into unfounded arrogance or complete douchbaggery, and there was always a layer of pretentiousness that coated them the archer somehow never carried. 

 

It was disarming and a little intimidating, and coincidentally, _hot as fuck_. It didn’t matter that Steve was half a head taller and could destroy the whole bed with his bare hands. The human mind was a strange place. He stops just outside of reach, shoulders hunched uncertainly.

 

Relaxed and open, Clint smiles at him, somehow both kind and predatory. “Come on, let Daddy fix it.”

 

Even Bucky’s mouth drops open, in horror or admiration it’s impossible to say, but Clint watches him expectantly, complete certain that Steve will do as he’s told. And slowly, cautiously, he does. Shifting up the bed until he kneels in front of his spread legs where Clint is still completely naked and completely unbothered by it. Affectionately, he says “Turn around and hand me the lube, sweetheart.”

 

Steve, visibly shuddering, turns and obeys, turning his back to him. His pupils are _gigantic,_ and his face and chest are getting steadily redder with each moment. “Very nice,” Clint comments to the wall of golden muscles before him, leaning to place a single kiss between Steve’s shoulder-blades. “That’s a good boy. You have another one in you, don’t you?”

 

Steve nods, head lowered, not quite up to the task of meeting anyone’s eyes.

 

“I’m gonna take care of you, baby boy. Do you believe me?”

 

He nods again, and Clint says, without sharpness but firm and insistent. “Repeat it, Steve.”

 

“You’ll…” he chokes and has to start again, hoarse with emotion. “You’ll take care of me.”

 

“Yeah I will,” he says warmly, pouring lubricant on his palm. Kisses his shoulder. “Nothing to be afraid of here. It’s just me.”

 

That was the right thing to say, they can tell. Tension over Steve’s back relaxes, and Clint takes that moment of easing to smooth his slicked palm over his cock. He sucks in a breath through his teeth and hisses it out. His whole body flexes and strains, but he does not budge an inch. “You can move,” Clint murmurs, patting his flank in encouragement and chuckling. “You’re not standing in the corner for punishment, Stevie. Go ahead.”

 

Shivering lightly, Steve starts thrusting in slow, controlled twitches. “Good boy, that’s a good boy,” he purrs, squeezing tighter until Steve gasps loudly. “Is that as fast as you like it? I don’t think it is, Stevie.”

 

Then he does exactly what Clint was hoping for – Steve grips in the sheets and throws his whole body into thrusting into the circle of his hand, sweating and shuddering wildly. “Baby _boy._ You can do it for me, come on. One more time.”

 

Steve whimpers and shakes his head. They’re all looking and he’s – god, he likes it, he likes it _a lot_ , but something in him tells Steve he shouldn’t. In a way, it told him that with Natasha, too, but the sheer overload of hormones and pheromones floating in the air convinced him it was a good idea. The power was intoxicating – but so is letting it go.

 

On the edge of a precipice, Clint gently take his earlobe between his teeth and whispers “Come on, sweetheart. You can do it for Daddy.”

 

Tony is happy to say that Friday captured the expression of shock on Steve’s face as he comes – in high definition, even.

 

_Speaking of spank-bank material._

 

“How did you know you wouldn’t end up swallowing your own teeth?” he asks Clint conversationally.

 

“Easy,” he answers calmly, petting the sweaty mop of golden hair. “Because Steve needs to be good, but he _loves_ to be wanted." He shrugs. "...And he doesn’t have our daddy issues.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like excessive dirty talk and soft dom Clint Barton is just really On Brand for me at this point XD
> 
> I stan for Hawkeye, fuck you very much, MCU.


	9. dress you up (in my love) part i

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers get ready for a hot date, in various ways.

“This feels like a particularly terrible idea,” Bruce mutters, pacing his room. There was plenty of room for the activity, even with three other people there.

 

“Can you not dance, doctor?” Thor asks curiously, paging through a magazine from Pepper’s collection as he sits on the end of the bed. Beside him, Brunnhile idly chews a terrifyingly large wad of gum and peers over his shoulder. Loki, to Bruce’s surprise, is peering through Bruce’s closet, looking increasingly frustrated and annoyed.

 

“I can…waltz, I guess,” he allows with a helpless shrug. “But that’s not really what I meant. Although…how is it that none of you were surprised that we said we’re…you know, together?”

 

Now Thor looks puzzled. “You are all very fine warriors. Mighty even by the standards of Asgard.”

 

“But there are six of us!”

 

“Is six…some sort of unlucky omen?” Brunnhilde asks, equally mystified. Peter – little Peter – has introduced her to the delight that is the beverage ‘cola’, and she may even like it better than booze. "Having many Kindred is the sign of great warriors and great leaders."

 

More somber and emotional than he usually sounds, Loki stares at the rows of fabric and murmurs “Humans do not share the bond of souls the way Asgardians do. Their lives are short and their bonds more permanent. It is a bond of the body as well as the heart. Their forefathers believed the joining of more than two was a sin, a crime for which they were punished.” Loki gives one last scowl to the closet. “This won’t do, Banner. You can’t show your face in any respectable establishment with this wardrobe.”

 

Having said this, he exits the room, Brunnhilde staring at his retreating back in bemusement and Thor swearing softly. “Raving Hela. I don’t know how I forgot about that. Ah, I’ll find some way to make it up to him later…”

 

“Make it up to him?” Bruce repeats. “What the hell just happened there? What did he mean that Asgardians and humans are different?”

 

“The nature of their connection is different. Asgardians – most species – have multiple soulmates. Some may stay with us forever, some only for brief periods. Humans are also more…hm… _physical_ with their soulmates. As for the rest – I second the doctor,” Brunnhilde agrees, popping an enormous bubble. “What _was_ that, Thor?”

 

“Ah, yes. This would be after you left. Several centuries ago, when Loki and I were still young men exploring earth, he encountered a human tribe. The elders were suspicious of him, but the young maidens and warriors of this tribe were very taken with my brother – three of them in particular favored him, and Loki did favor them as well. They were called Angrboda, Svathilfari, and Sigyn. He showed them how to hear the voice of their souls, and these three heard each other’s songs within themselves. And they heard Loki’s voice, too.”

 

The names did sound familiar to Bruce, but not familiar enough for him to pinpoint a specific story associated with them. Grimly, he says “Why do I have a feeling this doesn’t end in happiness? They died, right? They were humans, and you guys…”

 

Heavily, Thor continues on. “My brother went back to Asgard to ask my father’s permission, that his loves may come back with him to the palace. My father was not convinced of the wisdom of inviting mortals to the realm, and in the meantime, the elders in the tribe had discovered that Angrboda, Svathilfari, and Sigyn had lain with my brother, and with each other, and they were furious. The elders threatened them with a torturous death if they did not renounce each other, and my brother. Svathilfari and Angrboda both quickly begged the forgiveness of the leaders, saying that Loki had tricked them, bewitched them to see strange things.”

 

“Well, he is kinda…you know. Known for the trickery.” Bruce points out.

 

Thor and Brunnhilde _both_ shake their heads, and she says “To take a man or woman through force or trickery was a high crime on Asgard, doctor. Loki is capable of much that is offensive and even ruinous, but I cannot picture him being so callous as to commit such a cruelty against someone’s person.”

 

“An Echo cannot be tricked,” Thor says gently. “If the song rings true for the listener, it is a thing felt as well as heard. I've heard of spells that can cause desire and even madness-inducing infatuation, but no spell ever created can fool the soul into acknowledging something that is foreign to itself.”

 

“So, what happened?” Brunnhilde presses.

 

“As I said, Angrboda and Svathilfari denounced Loki and each other – but Sigyn refused to do so. Heimdall heard her screaming my brother’s name as she was taken to her execution, but they had Sigyn beheaded and he arrived too late to save her. In a fit of temper as punishment for deserting her, Loki turned Angrboda into a serpent and Svathilfari into a horse, and left them on earth to die. Their village he burned to the ground before returning home, betrayed and heartbroken. Our mother created a light for him in Sigyn’s honor, an eternal star. I’m told that mortals call this star the ‘Lokabrenna’ – Loki’s torch.”

 

“That…is horrifying,” Bruce says faintly. “That entire story is horrifying.” After pausing a moment, he says “You said that Asgardians don’t always have permanent soulmates, right? Do you think…do you think Loki still loves them?”

 

Thor knew that this was not about Loki. In a way, it was a question about whether he thought they could still make this work with everything between them. “It’s probably safe to say that his connection to Angrboda and Svathilfari died that day,” Thor says finally. “But I do believe that if he put his hand on Stark’s contraption, Loki would still hear the ancient song Sigyn’s heart sang to him those many years ago, as faithful to her now as she was to him at her death.”

 

“But,” Bruce says, a bit desperately “She would have died eventually anyway! Sigyn was a mortal – he would have lost her no matter what they did.”

 

“Everyone loses everyone, someday,” Thor points out. “Even _we_ do not live forever, Bruce. I’m sure if you were brave enough to ask him, Loki would say he wanted to see Sigyn live a long life, be at her side during a peaceful death, and be happy knowing he’d given her a life free of pain.”

 

“But he got none of those things,” Brunnhilde says shortly. “Frankly, he probably finds your waffling irritating. This is an opportunity he can only dream of now.”

\---

“Tie? No tie? What do you think? I’m going for casual, but like…on purpose, you know?” Tony asks, staring at his reflection in the mirror.

 

He is pointedly ignoring the expression Rhodey is wearing behind him.

 

It isn’t that Rhodey _dislikes_ his best friends’ five soulmates. It isn’t even that he is unhappy with this discovery. No.

 

Rhodey is worried.

 

The thing is, it’s not exactly a secret that the Avengers have a history of getting into large-scale conflicts with each other about various topics. And that’s okay – friend fight sometimes. It’s natural, and they’re adults. Thus far, they’ve been able to work it out...for the most part.

 

The problem – Rhodey’s problem – is that when these disputes occur, massive or miniscule, it’s Tony who receives the lion’s share of the blame and more often than not, _Tony_ who is required to take the responsibility for whatever damage has occurred, be it physical or otherwise.

 

And Rhodey can’t spend the rest of their lives watching the group blow itself up over and over, shove the consequences off on Tony, and witness his friend swallow the hurt and the anger for their sake while they move on like nothing happened.

 

The Steve thing in Siberia and the Bucky thing in general Rhodey could sort of understand – there was no good way out of that situation, no happy answers. But that incident was just the latest in a long pattern of catastrophes the Avengers _as a group_ caused and only Tony – who was not even designated as the group leader – ended up trying to fix, with little cooperation from the group itself.

 

Making Rhodey even more nervous, the five others in this sextet consisted of three people who were not on Tony’s side in that dispute, Bruce, who was not present for that fight but clearly would have been on the other side, and Natasha, who though willing to see the strategic advantage of Tony’s position was still Steve’s closest friend other than Barnes.

 

Much as he wanted his friend to be happy, he had zero faith in this group of superlosers and mega-idiots not to gang up on Tony again, unintentionally or not, whenever something went wrong.

 

“I don’t think I’m the right person to ask,” Rhodey concedes, and makes his mind up to go speak to the others. He’s going to make something very, very clear to the other parts of this more-some.

 

Peter, upside down on the ceiling, says “How about something, y’know, vintage?”

 

“Like for Rogers and Hammerstein?” Tony’s nose wrinkles. “Can’t pull of a hat, sorry kid, and that sort of makes the outfit. And I’m not sure I want to remind them of Howard. I get the impression we knew two _very_ different people.”

 

“Do you really look that much like him?” Peter asks curiously. The little bit Tony has told him about Howard hasn’t really been…well, great.

 

“The spitting image,” he mutters, glaring at himself in the mirror. “At least according to every newspaper and tabloid in America. Don’t really see it myself – no mustaches for me, thanks.”

 

“How about your mom?” Peter says softly.

 

Tony’s eyes connect with his in the mirror and he sighs to himself. Peter is only asking because he hardly remembers his own parents. Tony knew it made the kid nearly ashamed to admit that, but he was so, so young when they died. “Maria. Her name was Maria Lucero.”

 

Peter, though already mostly healed, is careful as he unsticks himself from the wall to fall down lightly on the bed. Luckily, the sheets have been remade and there is no evidence of the event two nights ago – or the morning after. “She was from Italy, right? Your mom? Like May’s Grandpa Joe.”

 

“Yeah,” Tony sits down beside him heavily, feeling oddly winded. “Her big sister, Isabella, she was the only one who thought I looked just like Mom. Mom was, ah, she was a socialite from a wealthy family in Emilia-Romagna. Met Dad at some swank function in Milan. Dad thought she was brilliant and gorgeous and Mom thought she was intensely bored of playing dress-up for snobs. So they got married.”

 

Peter blinks at him owlishly. “Just like that?”

 

Poor kid. Peter stuck him as a romantic – and that was good. Tony hoped he kept that now that he was at an age to start dating. “Just like that. Isabella told Mom she was a fool ten minutes before she walked down the aisle.” Tony grimaced. “In a lot of more conservative Christian countries, especially back then, it wasn’t acceptable to marry someone you knew was not your soulmate. Isabella said…hm, I believe her exact words were ‘you spit in the face of god, Maria’.”

 

It’s comical – sweet really – how naïve Peter is. “They weren’t soulmates?”

 

“Nope. Dad said he was too busy to go looking after nonsense like that, and Mom told me hers was dead. So, she got herself married to a very smart, very rich man nearly twenty years older than her, and badgered him until he gave her a child.”

 

“My parents were,” he says quietly. “May said there were never two people more in love than Richard and Mary Parker. But they still died. I guess that kind of proves your aunt wrong, huh?”

 

Tony drapes an around his shoulder and chooses his words carefully. “Remember one thing, Peter, no matter what happens, remember this one thing for me: sometimes, there’s just no accounting for bad luck. God or no.”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right. Thanks, Tony.” He smiles, spirits rallying again. “I think you should dress as…you. Like the…you-est you. Know what I mean?”

 

Dryly, Tony replies “Yeah, somehow through all that Gen Z babble, I did understand you. But this isn’t the kind of thing I put on one of the suits for, even if the nanotech is pretty sexy. Natasha would encourage showing up armed, but I doubt Steve and Bruce would appreciate it.”

 

He frowns. “I don’t mean Iron Man. I mean, you _are_ Iron Man, but Iron Man isn’t _you_. Crap. I’m not great at this – does anything I’m saying make sense?” 

 

“Yeah…” Tony says slowly. “Yeah, kid. It actually does. That’s some good advice.”

\---

“I used to be so good at this,” Bucky says bleakly, squinting at his dresser from his seat on the bed.

 

Shuri, though just a hologram, looks as tangible as if she were made of flesh and blood. God, he loves the future. She cocks her head. “Aren’t you, still?”

 

He shrugs. “No, not really. I don’t keep up with fashion anymore.”

 

She smiles at him. “Well, what was your style when you were a teenager?”

 

For the thousandth time, he feels a pang. She reminds him so much of Becks. Her warmth and her sass and god, her _smarts_. He misses her all the time – there was almost no chance she’d still be alive, she would’ve been…Christ, ninety-six years old by now. One of the first things he’d done when enough of his brain had recovered to remember his sister was figuring out the internet so that he could find out what happened to her.

 

As it turned out “what happened” was that Becks had a stroke and died in 2002, while he was sleeping in the dark and cold. She never even got to see Steve again…

 

She’s left behind son named Scott Proctor, who was actually a cooperate lawyer – which sounded really skeevy to Bucky until he’d discovered what his specialty was. Scott apparently went after industrial companies suspected of violating environmental protections regulations with their practices and found ways to prove that they were endangering the health of the communities around them.

 

He shrugs again. “Classy, I guess. I don’t know the word you’d use now.”

 

“Classy works.” Bucky loves her dimples. He’s teased her about them, but he really, honestly loves them. “I think you’ll find that modern fashion pretty much means that you can wear whatever you like, and it’s considered a coherent style. Why don’t you try going back to that classy style you had back then?"

 

Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t have the right look for that anymore, Shuri. Long hair was definitely not the done thing back then, and I was smaller. Shorter and skinnier, but still young enough to have a bit of puppy fat around the face. I don’t think I could manage to pull that off now.”

 

She snaps her fingers decisively. “Then we just have to update the look to make it work for you today!”

 

He wishes he had half of her confidence at that age, but somehow none of the history books mention that Sergeant Barnes was a pale and shaky mess after every trip out of base. For all Steve’s diminutive statue and chronic health problems, he was never short on guts. But not even _he_ seems to remember that Bucky was and has always been a weak-kneed crybaby.

 

“Describe it.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Describe going out on a date, when you were younger,” she insists. “Where did you go? What did you do? How did you get ready?”

 

So, he tells her about taking girls to dance halls – usually with Steve in tow – freshly shaven, hair slicked back with Murray’s, in his Sunday clothes. Makes Shuri laugh as he describes teaching poor Steve to dance in their tiny rented out rooms. “He was so nervous, I thought he might throw up!” Bucky laughs. “Turned green the first time he danced with Ellen French, you know. Poor little Stevie. But-”

 

Jesus. He’d almost finished that sentence with “- _he was so damn sweet.”_ Which was nothing but an ugly lie. Steve was no sweeter than a bulldog back then.

 

Shuri was not at all surprised when he told her about the six of them. Then again, there was really no reason for her to be. In Wakanda, Bucky sometimes slept near the queen mother’s garden, where fantastic flowers grew. He’d burst from sleep gasping and sweating, too bewildered to censor himself around her.

 

He dreamt of a little redhaired doll wrapping herself around him, murmuring sweet things in a harsh language.

 

He dreamt of kissing Howard Stark’s son on the beds of those lush flowers, and sipping wine from his red, red lips.

 

He dreamt of laying Stevie down by the slow rivers of Wakanda and taking him under thousands of stars, stars that reflected back at him in those deep blue eyes, until it felt like holding the heavens in his arms.

 

He dreamt of Clint before even knowing his first name, dreamt of racing through the forest with him, always thrilled for the chase but never making the kill, always hungry but not for blood.

 

He dreamt of a strange man with dark pretty curls, of bathing him in the dark night waters like a lesser god and sleeping beside him in the shade in the afternoons.

 

And they were naked, and they were as wild and as free as animals, and they belonged to Bucky. With Bucky. In each of these dreams, he was certain of that.

 

Strange, fantastical dreams at the time. Dreams from a sick mind trying to heal itself, he’d thought. Before returning to New York, Shuri had warned him of the power of those flowers, that they could reveal visions of one’s desires. Show objects of longing.

 

But he’d needed to leave, and he couldn’t leave with that still lingering in his heart.

 

 _Just the dreams of a sick mind_ , Bucky told her, trying to shake them off. _Trying to heal itself._

\---

Wanda does not just look through Clint’s closet – she tears the whole damn thing apart. “Do you even own a suit?!” she cries, frustrated. “ _Predok,_ how the hell have you managed to turn forty without owning a single three-piece?”

 

‘ _Predok_ ’ – Wanda calls him that when one of them is annoyed and so he assumes that it means something like ‘idiot’.

 

Clint mutters “The only places I ever went farther than my fucking bed were press releases and SHIELD missions, Wanda, and I used the same damn uniform for both of them.”

 

With an aggravated cry, Wanda says “Come then, _predok_ , we are going down to the Stark Tower shops and finding someone who can fix this!”

 

“Aww, kid, no-!” he whines, sounding worse than Pietro when asked to take out the trash. “I’ll just hang out, y’know, near the food or something-”

 

“No you will not!” she scolds sharply. “ _Predok_ , I know you can dance! You’re an excellent dancer, I’ve seen you!”

 

“Sweetheart, there are people who look good in fancy dress, and I’m…not fucking one of them. I look awkward and sweaty, like stuffing a bear into a tux.”

 

“I don’t believe that!” Wanda sniffs. “And I’m not disappointing them by letting you show up in a wrinkled shirt and nice jeans! Let’s go.”

 

No amount of whining or pleading can sway Wanda into letting him go, so Clint ends up following her down to the shops with ill grace.

 

Now, anybody employed in Stark Tower, even in the separate shops, from the designer clothing managers to the Starbucks baristas knew better than to gossip about the Tower residents. Unfortunately for Clint, that meant Wanda was free to open her mouth as she saw fit.

 

Tina, the assistant in menswear, eyes Clint critically and says “What kind of thing did you have in mind, dear?”

 

“I’m thinking… _really_ slutty,” she answers frankly, making Clint choke on his own saliva while innocently trying to breath. “Not like ‘meet me in the bathroom bar’ slutty though. More like, ‘look at all this hotness you can’t have’ kind of slutty. He’s going to a high-end restaurant, but I still want his shirt to be _obscenely_ tight.”

 

“He does have great biceps,” Tina agrees. “I think I can work with that…”

 

“You’ve been hanging out with Quill too often,” he accuses. “Wanda, I’m not ‘hotness you can’t have’, that’s kind of the opposite of this whole outing. I’m a sure thing – easier than a Baptist cheerleader on the night of senior prom – and they all know it. If you didn’t understand that, ask Tony. No, wait, on second thought don’t ask him that. Definitely don’t ask him.”

 

Wanda makes a face but doesn’t reply right away. She doesn’t really know how to explain herself correctly, but she knows she’ll have to try or Clint will never go along with all this. “You’re important to me…and I want them to see you like – well, not like I do, because I hope they like you more than that…” Reluctantly, he smiles at the face she makes, screwed up with concentration. “But I want them to love you…as much as you deserve. Is that right?”

 

“Maybe not ‘right’, but yeah, it does make sense.” Clint sighs. “Honey, I’m the literal definition of ‘white trailer trash’ – if you don’t know that one, do feel free to ask Tony about _that_. At any rate, you don’t have to worry about what I deserve.”

 

Clint knows that he’s hard on her – sometimes, harder than the rest of the team thinks that he should be. Part of that is because he can see the younger version of himself in her, and in some ways, Barney too.

 

Poor, wounded, uneducated, and dreadfully hungry to claw her way out of the dirt of her childhood. But he also saw that Wanda was soft and terrified and she needed to get rid of that before someone came along to use her the way the Swordsman had used Clint or before, in her desperation, she resorted to good old fashioned cold-blooded crime like Barney had.

 

People did dumb things when they were afraid. Clint knew that better than most people – after all, there were few things he hadn’t done for its sake. As far as he was concerned, what he said to Bucky was true. There wasn’t any such thing as ‘deserve’. That was a man-made concept recognizable by no laws.

 

Some people might say Clint deserved a bullet between the eyes or a kick in the teeth, and maybe they were right. Pretty much everyone would agree that he didn’t deserve to kiss the Winter Soldier and make Captain America get off on the word ‘daddy’, but he’d still done it.

 

Clint never got past fourth grade, and he was white trash through and through. But he was still the man who’d made Tony Stark gasp his name.

 

And you know, in a sick way…that kind of made it worth it.

 

He doesn’t deserve them, and he won’t pretend that he does. But how honestly, how can you deserve something freely given to you? Personally, Clint thinks he’s a pretty poor trade in exchange for them, but until they figure that out? He’s gonna ride this crazy sex train out to the end.

 

Until then, they were his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Details from Loki's tale were basically borrowed from Norse mythology.
> 
> I continue to love one (1) archer.


	10. dress you up (in my love) part ii

“Sam, I gotta be honest with you – I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.”

 

“Man, get outta here with that shit!” Sam scoffs, smirking as he leans back on the sofa. “You’d look good in a burlap sack!”

 

In front of him is Steve, with wet hair and a half-buttoned dress-shirt, wearing the look of a man who’s beginning to seriously question his life choices. “I wasn’t talking about the damn clothes, Sam!”

 

The other man shrugs. “I feel like the only thing you have to do to not fuck this up is…not fuck this up, Steve. Like it’s really that easy. Stark and my boy Barnes aren’t trying to rip each other’s heads off, your scary dominatrix isn’t trying to fillet the head nerd, and I don’t really know Barton but his sass game is always at least a solid B which I appreciate. The only thing you need to do is sit back and let your freak flags fly. Speaking of which – who’s the kinkiest fucker in that group?”

 

Steve starts blushing and shuttering and shaking his head.

 

“Come on, Steve – there’s fucking six of you bonded to each other. Don’t tell me you little nutcases aren’t into some weird shit. Voyeurism at the very least!”

 

“Oh my god, Sam, no!” he moans, head in hands.

 

“Holy shit!!” Sam crows with triumph. “Steve, IT’S YOU ISN’T IT?!!! You’re the kinkiest fucker there!!!”

 

“Please shut up!” he whimpers, still hiding. He hasn’t been able to look at Clint or Natasha without blushing since yesterday. He feels like kind of an ass in both cases, though for different reasons. “It was one night…and a morning! We don’t really know that yet!”

 

He definitely wants to experience both things again, but there needs to be a lot of talking first – particularly for Natasha. Nodding or shaking her head isn’t gonna work in the long-term, especially since Bucky seemed to indicate that vigorous head shaking was actually the sign she was close to coming.

 

“That means yes,” Sam says, still smirking. “Well look at that! Underneath all that white bread is actually something interesting! What is it? Come on, you can tell me – the classic spanking? Chains? Whips? Something weird and really specific? Or one of those painful things only found in hardcore porn?”

 

“Oh, god please stop talking!”

 

“You’re killin’ me, Smalls!”

 

“I hate to interrupt,” Rhodey says, settling down on the couch on the opposite side from Sam. “Mind if I chat for a few minutes?”

 

“Yeah, what’s up?” Steve looks absolutely ridiculous – like a little boy with his half-buttoned shirt and hair still dripping onto the collar.

 

“Normally I would ask Sam to leave,” Rhodey begins, stretching his legs out on the coffee table. “But since he’s probably the only friend in this tower you have outside of this clusterfuck, I want him to hear this, too.”

 

Steve stiffens at his tone, and Rhodey gives a smile – coldly polite and insincere. “Why do I think this isn’t a friendly social visit, Rhodes?”

 

“Bing-o!” he responds cheerlessly. “For the grand prize – why am I here, Steve?”

 

There was only one possible reason that Steve could think of. “Tony?” he says slowly, then feels gut punched. “Has Tony changed his mind?”

 

Rhodey’s expression finally softens. “No, he definitely hasn’t changed his mind. He’s with little Peter in the Penthouse, probably nixing the tie as we speak.”

 

Trying for a little more of a friendly approach, Sam says “What’s on your mind then, Rhodes?”

 

“Firstly, I need you to understand that I’m not just talking about you here, Steve – I’m speaking about the team as a whole here,” Rhodey says seriously, looking him straight in the eye. “But I wanted to talk to you about this because you’ve always been the de facto leader, the commander-no don’t even try to argue that. What you say goes, Steve, and it always has. In the end the Avengers follow your lead no matter how much they argue with you. But this has changed everything and…I need you to promise me you’re gonna take care of Tony.”

 

Steve blinks. “Of course! Of course I will-”

 

“No!” Rhodey says sharply. “Don’t pull the Boy Scout face on me, Rogers! I really don’t think you understand what it’s like for him – he is the only one who is willing to challenge you, Steve! And he pays for it, every. Fucking. Time. Listen to me, look at me, I’m not saying this to antagonize you,” he says earnestly, nearly pleading. “But you have no idea how hard this is for him and he’s never going to tell you! Do you know how many hours he and Pepper have had to spend arguing with board members, trying to keep his spot at Stark Industries, because he’s thrown truly _appalling_ amounts of the company’s money at the latest disaster you’re in?”

 

Feeling uncomfortably like a small child being scolded by their father, Steve says “Those disasters are not our fault, Rhodey. We cannot be held personally responsible for the damage other people cause.”

 

“Not even the _Berlin airport_?” Rhodey snaps, and then sighs and closes his eyes. “I’m not saying that you are personally responsible, but I’ve never seen any of you even acknowledge that. He pays for portions of the damage so that the Avengers’ public image stays favorable. This isn’t 1945 – something that happens at 8 am here is across the world ten minutes later. Your images matter. I know that it sucks, and I know that it’s bullshit, but it really does matter, Steve.”

 

“I don’t know the exact amount he’s paid out of his own pocket but know that it hovers somewhere in the _billions_. Do you know how much each of your suites cost, Steve? I averaged it out – it totals to about twelve million dollars. Each. Bruce brings the number up a little with the lab, but I’m pretty sure Tony had a crush on him before they even met each other. He doesn’t do that because he’s an asshole who likes to show off – I know that’s what he pretends is going on, but it’s because Tony wants you super assholes to like him!”

 

“We do!” Steve gasps. “I know that we don’t always see eye to eye about everything Rhodey, but we do like him!”

 

“Really?” Rhodey asks sadly. “Because you treat him like the least favorite teammate, Steve. And like I said, it’s not only you. Every one of you has treated him like a necessary annoyance or an unfortunate obligation that you grudgingly deal with. It was shitty, but he was your asshole teammate then, Steve.”

 

James Rhodes glares at him. “But if I see any of you doing this now, treating him like the least favorite soulmate? Like a trial you endure for the sake of the others? There is no place you can _run_ , nowhere you can _hide_ where I can’t find you. Up to and including the palace of Wakanda. And I’m telling this to you because he’s not going to – he’ll do the same thing he did with Pepper. He’ll take the criticisms and swallow them down and promise you the moon while he tries desperately to make himself into someone you’ll love.”

 

Steve’s brows come together so sharply that Rhodey lets him speak up. “But I love who he is already.”

 

Sam and Rhodey both inhale with surprise.

 

“Everyone else treated me with this kind of…reverence, ever since I woke up. But Tony just dug and dug and would not give an inch, and sometimes it was the only thing that felt real to me. In way, it felt like he was channeling Bucky sometimes. He and Tony are the only people who can look me straight in the eyes and tell me I’m a dick without apologizing for it.”

 

Rhodey smiles, wide and heartfelt for the first time. “All right then. Do me just one little favor, Steve? Tell him that. Oh and Wilson? Your boy is into some _weird_ shit.”

\---

Natasha stares into her closet and feels strangely helpless.

 

This has never happened to her before.

 

She always knows what to wear, how to present herself the way she wants to – it’s part of her job, part of what she was trained for. The trouble here is that she is not trying to present herself as a seductress, an innocent victim, a lethal assassin, or an ordinary woman.

 

She’s trying to present _Natasha_ , who is all of those things and none of them at the same time.

 

Natasha is not startled by Gamora – the woman was certain to make plenty of noise entering the room. She knows it’s a bad idea to try sneaking up on someone of their skills. “Pepper said I should come get you,” she says, eyes flickering over the sea of black in Natasha’s wardrobe. “Something about “girls’ day”. I do not know what this means – we are all women. Even the sorceress is full-grown.”

 

Pepper is clever. Under other circumstances, Natasha probably would’ve refused, but not when Gamora, Mantis, and Nebula have never gotten time to themselves, time to be pampered and groomed just because they can. Pepper knows she would never be that rude to people she actually likes.

 

Natasha likes Pepper, too – she’s just not so certain that Pepper likes _her_ right now. ‘Ex-wife of my soulmate’ doesn’t exactly make for a smooth relationship.

 

Gamora walks her back down the ‘luxury’ part of the tower’s retail sections. Pepper is there with Mantis, who looks excited, Nebula, who looks bored, and Darcy, who actually looks cheerfully sober. As they are approaching from one side, Brunnhilde approaches from the other. She seems pensive, but nods to Natasha and Gamora as the three of them join the group. Brightly, Pepper tells the group “We’re just waiting on one more! Ah, there she is!”

 

Wanda marches down the row of shops, dragging Clint behind her. Playfully, Darcy cackles, booing loudly, and Pepper grins and says “No boys allowed! This is woman and nonbinary folks only!”

 

Wanda hisses “The things I do for you, I swear!” She swats Clint on the arm and shoos him off. “Do not argue with the stylist, _predok_! I gave Tina very specific instructions and I will know if you didn’t let Carlo do his job!”

 

“Yes, chickabiddy,” Clint sighs. “I promise, it will be just like you said. Go and have fun with the girls now.”

 

Natasha stares at her. This is the second time that she’s heard Wanda refer to one of her mates in a paternal manner. She’s sure now that with Tony it just slipped out – Wanda would probably be mortified if he knew what she’d called him. ‘ _Tat’ka_ ’ was something a child would use, closer to the English use of ‘papa’ than anything else. ‘ _Predok’_ was formal, reverent, almost ritualized. It wasn’t just ‘dad’ – that would be ‘ _otec’_. ‘ _Predok’_ was ‘father’. It was ‘ancestor’. The originator of the bloodline.

 

She was annoyed with him, so the usage had a sarcastic edge, but Natasha now remembers her using it a few times prior. She just hasn’t remembered the right translation at the time. Normally, Wanda used it whenever Clint was disappointed, perhaps a subconscious entreaty for his benevolence with her.

 

Either Wanda assumes Clint understands her and chooses to ignore her use of it, out of callousness or to spare her the embarrassment of confronting her about it, or she believes that no one else can understand her and addresses him this way for her own comfort.

 

The more she examines it, the more Natasha believes it’s the latter. She called Tony ‘ _tat’ka’_ in a moment of distress, and she uses ‘ _predok’_ for Clint to beg his forgiveness or to pray for patience.

 

Natasha makes the decision not to confront her for now. But this definitely _will_ be explored later. Clint can be hard on her and he may not even realize that Wanda views him this way, and she’s absolutely certain Tony doesn’t know.

 

They all watch as Clint slinks off to the men’s grooming section, but no one misses the glance he gives Natasha, which she pretends to ignore.

 

//Song-soul?// he signs plaintively with a twist of the wrist and a question mark.

 

She signs back without looking at him, ending with two pats over her own chest. //Bird-song-mine//

 

Clint’s shoulders straighten, and he finally smiles as he walks away, looking if not excited then at least more relaxed now. He knows Natasha wouldn’t be comfortable with public displays of affection and they would both be uncomfortable with something like a kiss or a hug in front of other people. But he wished for _some_ kind of acknowledgement from her and that was perfect.

 

Gamora hides a smile and Nebula snorts. The translation chip models Peter picked up for his team works for _every_ language currently spoken on Earth, and that includes ASL. They both elected not to comment on that, however.

 

Pepper looks over the group, claps her hands eagerly and says “Well, as long as we have everyone here, including our guest of honor, let’s get started!” Her enthusiasm makes Natasha guiltily wonder if Pepper has been longing for some female company this whole time and assumed the Black Widow didn’t care to spend time with her. “Hair is this way!”

 

Mantis is nervous going into the salon, but it’s clear Pepper has given very explicit instructions to the staff about her guests. Nebula is given chocolate and wine and offered a neck massage while the others are taken to the sinks for a wash and rinse. “You have very stiff shoulders, miss,” the Danish masseuse says, brows furrowed. “Especially for someone with such excellent posture!”

 

If Gamora didn’t know better, she’d say her sister was blushing, and raised her brows. She thought she had a pretty good idea of human beauty by now and the woman – her name tag said “Kristina” – wasn’t beautiful. But her hair was thick and shiny, a pale gold color Gamora had never seen before coming to Earth, and her eyes were kind and squinted pleasantly when she smiled.

 

Gamora approves.

 

At that moment, Natasha was on the other side of the salon with Pepper, and both women were trying not to look as awkward as they felt before Pepper finally decided to get it over with and just say it. Like ripping off a band-aid.

 

“It was stupid to marry him, and I knew it,” she tells Natasha quietly. “He avoided showing me his Echo, but he wouldn’t touch EUTERPE, a creation he was so proud of, while I was around either. We last five weeks, and there was this stupid fight – and I made him.”

 

Natasha can see how sad Pepper is and keeps her voice low. “Was it bad?”

 

“Do you know that he has a keyword? A forced title quirk? EUTERPE plays all of his songs to have the word ‘love’ in the title.” She laughs sadly. “Do you what happened? He played ‘Bye Bye Love’.”

 

“Pepper, I’m so sorry,” Natasha says, numb. “I had no idea.”

 

“It’s alright, you couldn’t have known. He was…ashamed, I think. Many plural Echoes still are. Rhodey is Tony’s oldest friend, and he didn’t even know he had one. We were _newlyweds_ , just days past our honeymoon, and his heart said, ‘ _I feel like I’m gonna die’_. I knew then we couldn’t stay married. Not when he still felt such pain. He tried so hard to deny it, you know, but I could see it…”

 

Natasha nods, averting her eyes. She’s seen it nearly since the moment she met him, but Tony made such a large effort to hide it away and pretend that it didn’t exist it felt rude, intrusive almost, to call attention to it.

 

“Anyway,” Pepper continues heavily before clearly making an effort to sound more cheerful. “I know you probably have everything already figured out, but I planned on doing this anyway and I thought I’d check some boxes off your list of things to do before tonight.”

 

She laughs hollowly and Pepper eyes her with worry. “I had nothing figured out. I was actually standing in my closet and having an out-of-body experience when Gamora came to get me.”

 

Pepper’s worry becomes full on concern. “What’s wrong?”

 

Natasha stares at her own reflection before her eyes drop into her lap and she mumbles, “It’s dumb, but this seems really important somehow, and everything I see in my closet just feels like another disguise. Another mask I put on. And I don’t want to give them a clever façade. I want to give them something…some _one_ real.”

 

“I think I can help with that.”

 

She is just as ashamed of Pepper’s warm smile as she is at the realization of their divorce. She doesn’t deserve the compassion this woman shows her. Natasha is taking her husband, ex or not, and four other men besides. Internally, she vows to make a better effort for her friendship in the future.

 

Vibrant hair neatly curled around her face, manicured and pedicured and scrubbed within an inch to godliness, Natasha is bundled up into a fluffy robe and Pepper leads her through the evening gowns.

 

“I’ve seen it here before,” she murmurs conspiratorially, prowling around the racks. “And every time I’ve seen it, I’ve thought ‘Natasha would pull this off!’ but until now, I couldn’t think of a reason special enough for you to wear it. Ah!”

 

Pepper doesn’t even let her see it. She leads Natasha into a dressing room instead and slips the garment over her head, then laughs as Natasha stares at herself, open-mouthed in the mirror. “Well that…will certainly draw attention.”

 

“Do you like it?” she asks, biting her lip in excitement.

 

“I…yes. I do,” Natasha says, stunned.

 

The dress is obviously designer and brand new, but the style is vintage – the gown of a well appointed 20’s-era flapper girl.

 

At first glance it appears that Natasha is wearing nothing but dart-shaped emblems made of crystal that resemble arrow-heads – just enough to preserve her modesty. A second glance reveals that the dress is actually a rich, skin-toned fabric that clings close to her figure, molding itself to her until it reaches her hips, then becoming just loose enough for her to dance in comfortably. It’s elegant, but it doesn’t feel like something that she’s ‘made up’ in, something she’s been forced into by circumstance.

 

She smiles at Pepper. “It’s perfect.”

 

She calls down to the florist on the main floor to deliver flower for a headpiece, getting the man to weave Natasha a band of flowers in cream, peach, and pale yellows that Pepper drapes ropes of crystals from. Her glee is almost childlike and has Natasha laughing right up until the car arrives to take her away. “I’ve told them you’ll be ‘fashionably late’ so they don’t worry about you!”

 

It’s not until Natasha is descending the stairway into the ballroom and catches her own reflection in the mirrored walls that she realizes what a clever woman Pepper Potts is, and her eyes widen.

 

Damn it, Natasha’s been _had._

 

She stands, frozen as she stares at herself. The thought hadn’t even entered her mind until she saw the entire picture of herself. The style of the dress recalls the era of her prewar soulmates, the arrow-shaped darts a nod to Clint. The innocence of the flowers in her hair and the soft color and fabric will appeal to Bruce but the risqué appearance and figure-hugging silhouette is all Tony.

 

On top of this, the pale colors and elaborate makeup very deliberately hint toward something…matrimonial.

 

Natasha has been dressed up like a bride and sent out to her grooms in something designed to appeal to each of them.

 

_Pepper, I don’t know if I want to kiss you or kill you right now. Here goes nothing…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nebula sees Loki's angry pan and raises him a furious lesbian, and Gamora is what we call a vaguely annoyed pan.   
> Groot is the chill gay, and Quill and Drax are the obligatory heteros.  
> Additionally, Thor is the cheerful bi to Valkyrie's grumpy bi, and Mantis is the cheerful ace to Rocket's grumpy ace. 
> 
> Basically what I'm saying here is that The Guardians are The Goodest.


	11. dress you up (in my love) part iii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did we ever pretend this was anything but filth? Also, I just really need this chapter to get out of my life right now, so it's a little shorter than normal.

Tony is the one who spots her.

 

He’s loitering around the ballroom entrance. Technically, this is supposed to be a charity event, but it was a good excuse for Bucky and Clint’s ideas for dinner and dancing without having to make bad excuses to Pepper and owing her and Rhodey yet more favors. It has thus turned into ‘Avengers first date night’, also partially because everybody else is just so. Fucking. Boring.

 

So, he’s kind of drifting around the entrance, hoping that a member of his party will show up and rescue him from the Secretary of the Treasury, whose main goal seems to be wheedling Tony into ‘donating’ resources to the Secretary of Defense – which he would do if that were Rhodey.

 

Hint: it fucking isn’t Rhodey.

 

Natasha captures the eye as she descends the grand staircase, graceful and glittering. She is easily and obviously the most beautiful woman in the room and he doesn’t believe that’s his own personal bias talking. Their eyes meet as she is halfway down the marble steps and he sees it in her face – a flash of fear. Brief. Anxious. Arresting, before it’s gone in an instant.

 

Tony walks right past the – _still fucking talking_ , Jesus Christ – Secretary of the Treasury to meet her at the bottom, holding his elbow out for her with surprising chivalry. His hand briefly and deliciously encounters the miles of bare skin exposed by the back of the dress and Tony murmurs “You look incredible.”

 

“Careful. Your tongue is hanging out,” Natasha teases him, but squeezes his arm tight. “Have you seen the others yet?”

 

“No, I’ve been having my ears assaulted for the past fifteen minutes.”

 

Her eyes dart to him, taking him all in up close. The pale powder blue pinstripe should and would look ridiculous on any other man, but the sheer audacity of Tony’s personality pulls it off beautifully, and the light hue makes his dark hair and dark eyes shine. Pleased and growing light-headed with his smell, Natasha presses herself closer to side, purring “Do I need to threaten someone?”

 

My god is that actually… _jealousy_ he hears in her voice? “You don’t _need_ to, but please feel free,” he mutters in her ear, his arm covetously sliding around her narrow waist. “I’ll enjoy seeing whatever poor fool you have in your clutches piss their pants just looking at you. Dance, my venomous darling?”

 

People around them are staring at them and if Tony has noticed, he doesn’t doubt she has, too. No doubt they’re wondering why the Black Widow is allowing Tony Stark to paw at her – Natasha is rather infamous, especially among certain members of the media, for maintaining a large area of personal space.

 

 _My venomous darling._ Natasha actually likes that. His hold on her is possessive, but his tone is almost appeasing, so she smirks and nods, taking his hand and leading him forward where of course, there was a band. Natasha has long suspected that Tony could dance correctly and dance well, which she tells him then and there. “I’m expecting you to impress me, Stark.”

 

“Oh, then I’d better not screw this up, huh?” Tony says, not entirely feigning his surprise. He strokes an arm down her back, knowing that the people around them have begun whispering. He gulps as they glide, turning in a circle, bodies almost indecently close. Definitely too close for proper dance form. “Natasha are you wearing a bra?”

 

Her arms curl over his shoulders and Natasha presses even closer, nipples tightening up against Tony’s chest, she only half-exaggerates her low moan next to his ear. Her fingers almost idly playing with the hair curled at the nape of his neck and she stares up at him through her exquisitely crafted cat-eyes. Her voice is temptation itself, a sinful lure for him to touch and taste to his heart’s desire. “You tell me, Tony.”

 

He breathes in the scent of her flower-crown. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”

 

She laughs quietly, whispering “Let’s not bring them into this – six is enough, don’t you think?”

 

“Six is perfect,” he breathes weakly, dizzy from her proximity. He doesn’t know what that perfume is, but Tony could happily drown himself in it. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I would much rather be groping you in the eight-million-dollar bathrooms than dancing right now.”

 

“Oh, I agree,” she says pleasantly. “But until we spot the rest of our party, we’ll stick to dancing for now.”

 

“That sort of implies you’d allow me to grope you in the bathroom,” he says, wide-eyed.

 

“We should find some handsome gentlemen to guard the door for us first,” she answers suggestively.

 

“Hell _yes_.”

\---

Meanwhile, near to the buffet, Bucky is prowling around with a mean murder-glare attached to his face that is making the rich and stuffy charity ball guests very nervous and eager to get out of his way, particularly those that recognize him.

 

While his sense of smell could pick out very nice things, like how turned on his mates were, that also meant that the moment one of them was distressed, he knew it. Somewhere nearby, Clint was upset, sweating with anxiety and reeking of worry. So, there was Bucky, stomping his way through the party and giving the evil eye to anyone dumb enough to still stand in his way.

 

He is stopped in his path by another smell, nearly as distressed, his head whipping around to locate Bruce through the crowd. The moment Bruce sees Bucky’s tensed-up attitude, the unhappy crease of his forehead, his own stress vanishes for concern. “Are you okay, James?”

 

“Peachy,” the soldier grunts. Bruce nearly gasps aloud as a large warm palm splays over the small of his back. “How are you, doll?” Bucky’s gaze sharpens suddenly, nostrils flaring as he takes him in properly. “ _Mmm._ _Bay-bee_ - _dolllll_.”

 

Bruce flushes. He allowed Loki to take over and this is what he gets for trusting the god of jests. He feels like the sloppiest person here, curls styled messily, loose tie, collar unbuttoned. Bruce thinks it looks like he rolled out of bed and put on a suit he had thrown over a chair. The pale gray suit and black-tie combo is a nice change, and his shoes – brand new gray vans to match – are comfortable, but that’s about the only upside. Bruce feels like a mess in this room of well-dressed snobs, sloppy in a way that has him feeling cornered, singled out.

 

“James,” he says, still flushed, standing straighter and clearing his throat. “Hello.”

 

To make matters worse, James is dressed in all-black and the effect should be grim or funerary but the contrasting textures of the waistcoat, the shirt, and the jacket make Bruce want to reach out and stroke him everywhere. The darkness of the suit makes his tanned skin shine with health, and provides a rich contrast to the sharp paleness of his eyes and the glossy brown and auburn color of his hair.

 

Bucky thinks Bruce looks well-fucked, tousled and sleepy in that warm, sweet way of his and he likes that look on Bruce _a lot_. He grins softly. “You rationed, sugar?”

 

He loves the way he can make their hearts race, the nose-twitching scent of their personal smell and their sweat on the air around him. “Uh,” Bruce stutters uncertainly, feeing hopelessly outclassed in charisma. Good god, the history books said Barnes was a ladies’ man, but this was just unfair. “Not…not rationed…for you, James.”

 

“Aw.” Despite Bruce’s lack of confidence in his delivery, Bucky is charmed. “You’re sweet. Can I have some of that sugar?”

 

“Here?” Bruce squeaks nervously. “Now?”

 

“Only if you wanna,” he says, Bruce’s shyness reminding him that not every one of his soulmates has the confidence of Tony Stark – or at least the confidence that Tony Stark pretends to have.

 

To his surprise, Bruce stares at him through a fan of dark lashes before slipping a tentative hand up Bucky’s lapel and giving a tiny nod. Bending his head, Bucky gently slides their mouths together and sighs a little at the brief sweet taste. Bruce’s lips tastes like excellent champagne. He licks his lips, backing up to give them both some air, and murmurs “Yep, I was right. Just like sugar.” He presses Bruce’s hand harder to his chest, where is heart thuds hard with excitement. “You could give a man some wicked ideas there, doc.”

 

Bruce inhales sharply, face flushed and eyelids heavy. Bucky is abruptly reminded that they are not two people in a room of six but inside a room of a few hundred. People are staring them but it’s hard to care when your soulmate looks at you that way. No doubt they’ve created some interesting rumors here tonight, but neither of them can be bothered to care much.

\---

Clint stumbles into Steve, almost literally. Truth be told, Clint is a bit of a mess. _Then again_ , he thinks wryly, _when am I not a mess?_

 

However, as impromptu as their meeting is, Steve was very much looking for Clint. Like Bucky, Steve can smell his emotional discomfort within the room, the anxiety reaching out and pulling him along. Luckily, his archer just about walks right into him, trying to hide himself over near the buffet-style serving tables, loaded with finger-foods and overpriced drinks.

 

After ensuring that Clint stays on his feet, Steve stares at him and blurts out “Jesus, Clint.”

 

The archer looks miserable. “Oh god, please get me out of this room.”

 

Steve unthinkingly grabs Clint by the upper arm and drags him further off into a hallway, past a set of kitchens filled with wait-staff dressed nearly as well as the guests, into a dark silent corner of a closed-off stairwell. “How the hell did you know this was here?”

 

Wryly, Steve says “I don’t go anywhere in a private space with this many people unless I’ve seen the building layout. Especially not when all five of you are there. Somehow, FRIDAY knows that.”

 

Clint rolls his eyes, but his expression is somewhat affectionate. “Tony.”

 

“Probably,” Steve admits, then licks his lips and lowers his eyelashes, loosening his grip on Clint’s arm to run his large hands up his chest possessively. “God, you look so good…”

 

Not expecting Steve to come back here to grope him and stunned by the response, Clint very eloquently says “…what?”

 

“Please let me-” Steve cuts himself off and swallows. Clint can feel a fine tremor run through his larger frame. He lowers his voice, uncertain and as tremoring as his body, a wavery whisper in Clint’s ear “Can I-can I suck you off, D-daddy?”

 

The wave of unreality that has been trying to take him over nearly overcomes him but the sudden rise of affection for his mate pushes it back under. Clint kisses him, raking his nails lightly at the back of his head, scratching through the blond hairs. They can hear footsteps above them, staff members cleaning up in the private conference rooms. “You gotta be so quiet, baby boy,” he whispers, licking his way across Steve’s jawline. “So, so quiet.”

 

And Steve whimpers “I’ll be quiet. I’ll-I’ll be good.”

 

Clint grins and his chin. “Yeah, you are, aren’t you?” Steve drops to his knees, pulling apart his belt and swallowing him down immediately, nearly choking himself in his eagerness to please. Clint’s fingernails scrape over his scalp, cupping the back of his head tenderly. “Easy, sweetheart, don’t hurt yourself.”

 

Gently, he guides himself in and out of Steve’s mouth, Steve relaxing more with each tiny piece of control Clint takes away, until he is clinging to Clint’s thighs, mouth slack and open for his use.

 

God, he’s gorgeous, too. The blowjob feels incredible, but not quite as incredible as Steve’s blissed out expression, dazed and staring up at him with his huge black pupils, saliva gathering at the corners of his mouth. Clint whispers it, as worshipful as Steve is. “God, you’re gorgeous.” Steve makes a small weak noise and swallows around him, throat convulsing around the length of his cock and eyes watering, until Clint swears in a tense hush “Jesus, jesus, Steve. So pretty. The way you take me, so fucking good…”

 

Steve claws at him to get closer, nose pressed to the coarse hair at Clint’s groin. Swallowing against the flood of saliva and the thick intrusion of his mate’s dick, moaning and choking at the same time. He’s so hard it hurts in his dress slacks, cock and balls aching at the tight confinement. The way Clint fucks Steve’s mouth is slow and hot, growling quietly “Baby boy, unh, my perfect baby boy. Your mouth is so goddamn sweet. Fucking perfect and fucking _mine_.” Clint grips his hair and sucks in a sharp breath. “Gonna come, baby.”

 

Still crying from lack of oxygen, Steve humps Clint’s leg like a frantic needy animal, gulping around his cock and whining with enthusiasm the moment he feels it begin pulsing against his palate. Clint cradles the back of his head with both hands as Steve swallows, massaging the bones of his skull with great care and easing him slowly back so that he can take his first gasp of air. “You did so well,” Clint breaths, cheek pressed against the feathery golden hair. “Daddy’s so proud, Stevie. You were perfect.”

 

Steve, shivering and covered in his own spit and tears, glows with happiness at the approval. Clint is wonderfully free with his praise and despite being hard enough to break rocks, Steve actually feels very relaxed. There’s something oddly soothing about knowing that Clint does not expect him to lead. There are no enormous stakes or massive responsibilities for him to tackle, just the pleasure of praise and simple, easy orders. He trembles, feverish with delight as Clint kisses over his face and murmurs “What do you want, Stevie? One freebie from Daddy.”

 

He shakes his head slightly, panting “Not-not right now. Can’t-hm-can’t be quiet.”

 

With a last lingering kiss to Steve’s lips, Clint says “Good boy. Thank you for telling me. Let’s find a restroom to get you cleaned up in.”

\---

Clint will readily acknowledge that he is an idiot – especially since he really, _really_ should have locked the door.

 

They are both a mess – Steve’s neat slicked-back mane of lion blond hair is a bird’s nest, his face still coat is various bodily fluids, with a tent in his pants and dust covering the knees and shins. Clint’s face and neck are flushed, and his pants are still half-undone, shirt-tails barely covering the opened fly of his pants.

 

When they hear the door opening, both men freeze and Tony cackles “I found ‘em!” Natasha pops her head in beside him and he says “We’re too late! Clint and Steve were already doing the dirty!”

 

Natasha and Bucky stare hungrily at Clint. Wanda did a terrific job – he is wearing denim jeans, because she didn’t want him to be dressed in something too outrageously unlike himself, so they’re an extremely nice pair of designer jeans with lavender-tinted sunglasses, and she made sure the dress shirt was tailored to within an inch of its life, the smooth fabric clinging to his chest and arms tightly.

 

“I want to rip that shirt off you,” Natasha tells him in a decisive purr. “With my teeth.”

 

“Yes, please,” Tony and Bucky say simultaneously.

 

Bruce ends the parade of people by locking the door, but says with quiet disappointment “…you started without us?”

 

Steve visibly wilts “That…was my fault.”

 

Tony’s eyes dart from Steve’s face, flushed and sticky, his eyes red-rimmed, to Clint, who is awfully composed but still couldn’t hide his unbuckled belt and glassy eyes. “Holy shit – you went straight to Clint and begged Daddy to let you blow him, didn’t you?!”

 

He knows as soon as he opens his mouth that it was the wrong thing to say. Steve flinches in a way he never does even when he’s been hit, no matter how hard. They hadn’t realized how relaxed he looked until he tensed back up again. Clint does not fail to catch this and glares at him. “Okay, I feel a bit bad we jumped ahead without telling anyone else but what the fuck, Tony?! Did you, Tony Stark, honestly just try to kink shame him?”

 

Flushed and defensive, Tony protests “I didn’t mean it like that!”

 

Clint is furious and breathing too hard. “The how the fuck did you mean it?!”

 

Quietly, Natasha says “ _Clint_.”

 

Despite his sudden hurt and embarrassment, Steve does notice Tony’s slightly hunted expression at the rising tension in the room and recalls Rhodey…well, yelling at him, really, earlier in the day. That the group, regardless of who was really at fault, tended to gang up on Tony and hold him the most responsible. It was true that what he’d said was hurtful, but it was also more thoughtless than actively malicious.

 

Tony is an asshole in that he sometimes talks without thinking, and sometimes he plays up the asshole because it’s what people are expecting.

 

“How did you mean it?” Steve is careful to keep his tone away from accusing.

 

Tony shrugs, but he’s blushing and his gaze hits Steve’s shoulder rather than making direct eye contact with him. “Would’ve been something to see.”

 

With a finger through his beltloop, Steve pulls Tony towards him and without warning him, slips his tongue between Tony’s lips just as he gasps. He thrusts in along his tongue with Clint’s slow, dirty strokes, well aware that the flavor of semen that still lingers, echoing the way Clint used his mouth. Tony to his surprise, lets out a soft little mewl, only audible to him, and presses in closer, sucking lightly on his tongue in a way that sends chills all through Steve’s body.

 

They pull away gasping and Steve leans their foreheads together, unconcerned by their height disparity. “You’re forgiven.”

 

Tony nods, having the grace to at least look contrite.

 

“I did beg, and Clint did what I asked for.”

 

The archer snorts. “It wasn’t a hardship, believe me, Stevie. I got the better end of that deal.”

 

Steve smiles serenely. “Feel free to brag about, since they’re so eager.”

 

But Steve will remember that tiny mewl for later. Tony’s asshole act is at its finest when he wants to draw people’s attention away from himself and towards something else, and that’s very much what this felt like. What could he possibly be worried that they will see?


	12. talk to me, baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, songs featured in the chapter will be posted in the notes at the end.

Because he is perhaps the only sensible voice of reason in the group, Bruce points out that it is literally impossible for all six of them to have sex in a bathroom without anyone noticing. Though Clint and Natasha get a gleam in their eyes at the idea of that challenge, the others agree that retreating early would probably be better.

 

They don’t intend to deliberately hide their connection, but the media would have a field day if they were caught or spotted having sex together at a public venue. Explaining that the six of them were attached would be big enough without a grand scandal _during_ the event. Tony does notice Bucky’s disappointment and even Natasha and Steve seemed a little put out that there was no more dancing.

 

He left Clint to gather the wine and glasses and Bruce and Natasha to take care of the food. Instead, he wandered into the main room with EUTERPE’s console. Quietly, he asks “Friday?”

 

Faithfully, Friday responds “Yes, Boss?”

 

“Which ones of us would it take to get a song slow enough to dance to?” He’s managed to screw this whole thing up enough without trying to make guesses.

 

“Hm…calculating,” Friday hums. “Any match to Captain Rogers would have a higher rate of success for a song of that criteria. Agent Barton and Sergeant Barnes have the lowest odds.”

 

“Cap with anyone but Legolas and Buckaroo – got it. Who would be the next most likely? I want as high a chance of success as possible.”

 

“…that would be you, Boss.”

 

“Okay, well, scratch that,” Tony says, stricken.

 

“Scratch what?”

 

Tony jumps, yelping as Bucky appears behind him, his shadow-like movements leaving him completely undetected up until the moment he opens his mouth.

 

“Just trying to find some mood music,” he says, waving a dismissive hand.

 

Bucky examines the guilty little boy expression on Tony’s face a moment before he captures his hand. “Don’t be silly,” he purrs, kissing the knuckles, which are as rough and scarred as his own. “We can do that ourselves.”

 

It happens only for a second, but Bucky was good at watching _before_ he became an ‘enhanced’ person. The guilty look on Tony’s face briefly intensifies and Bucky is puzzled. Tony licks his lips nervously and says, “Would you like to get a head start on that?”

 

Steve, having gamely volunteered to be Clint and Bruce’s pack mule, nearly drops the tray of drinks he’s carrying at the sight that greets him.

 

Bucky is groping Tony on the couch, using the chilly hand of metal to tease his nipples beneath his t-shirt and a very friendly right hand squeezes his ass through his jeans. His enhanced hearing meant that Bucky’s low whispers reach his ears. “Screaming would be just the perfect kind of music, don’t you think, sweetheart? Can I get you to scream? Nice and loud for me, so they can hear?”

 

Tony doesn’t scream, but he does whimper, muffling the desperate sounds into Bucky’s mouth and yanking impatiently at his clothes.

 

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Bruce says from behind Steve. “I know you’re all very excited, but can’t I trust two of you to be in a room together without heavy petting for ten whole minutes?!”

 

Natasha nudges Clint slyly. “Clearly not.”

 

Bucky eases away from Tony by a hairsbreadth, both panting against each other’s mouths. “We were just searching for some good mood music.” With a last kiss behind Tony’s ear, Bucky pulls them both into an upright position. Tony’s eyes are slightly hazy, and his clothes don’t hang quite straight on his body. “Steve,” he slurs, rather incomprehensibly. “And Bruce.”

 

“Yes, we are all here,” Bruce huffs.

 

“No, I mean Steve and Bruce should do it. Friday says you’ll make the best mood music.” And she was also too faithful too contradict that statement with the truth.

 

Steve blushes so severely Bruce gets second-hand embarrassment just looking at him. “Uh, um, but I can’t dance…”

 

“Two left feet,” agrees Bruce in a mumble.

 

“C’mon,” Clint teases. “Let us hear this sexy dancing song you’ve got for us.”

 

“He didn’t say it was sexy!” Steve protests. “Wait, why us?”

 

Friday speaks up for herself. “Captain Rogers shows a marked preference for female ballad predating the sixties and Doctor Banner also has a quirk in his makeup – he automatically surrenders and will force all partners to reveal another song from their preferred artist.”

 

Clint perks up. “Does this mean we get to hear Elizabeth sing again? Do it, guys!”

 

Steve barely understood half of that, but Bruce says, “On the count of three? One.”

 

“Two.”

 

“Three!”

 

As predicted, Bruce’s lovely leaf-green immediately surrender to Steve’s dark navy blue and Elizabeth promptly obliges him. “ _See the pyramids along the Nile, watch the sunrise from a tropic isle…just remember, darling, all the while…”_ Steve’s heart spoke to Bruce. _“You belong to me.”_

 

“Dance!” Natasha hisses.

 

Neither of them would call it dancing, just a slow sway in time with the sad guitar strings. Steve’s hands tighten at the back of Bruce’s shirt when Elizabeth murmurs “ _I’ll be so alone, without you…_ ”, unwelcome emotion welling in him, from seemingly out of the blue.

 

“Shh,” Bruce whispers, stroking the tension from his broad back, softly pressing a kiss to the side of his neck.

 

Steve’s eyes squeeze shut for a moment, but he does relax a little more. When the song ends, Bruce kisses the back of his hand, as Bucky did for Tony less than an hour ago. “Thank you,” he says honestly. “That was beautiful, Steven.”

 

“Another!” Natasha demands from the couch cushions, where she had closed her eyes and rested to listen in.

 

“Well, you go and do it, then!” Steve says crossly, still flushed to the tips of his ears.

 

Natasha shrugs. “All right.”

 

Before Steve realizes what she’s doing, she yanks on his hand and slaps both of their palms on the console. Surprising absolutely no one, Natasha wins. However, she’s nearly as shocked as he is when a tinny piano begins playing. Natasha’s heart has a light-heartedness to it that, after he thinks about, Steve is not surprised by at all. Natasha has never been shy about teasing him, making bad dad jokes and trying to coax him out of his shell.

 

 _“The very thought of you and I forget to do those little ordinary things that everyone ought to do,”_ Steve’s heart leaps up. Because he does know this song. He knew it well even before he entered the army. He looks over at Natasha, who is uncharacteristically startled. Her lips parted with surprised and green eyes large in her pale, lovely face. “ _I’m living in a kind of daydream! I’m happy as a queen!”_

 

He breathes “Natasha.”

 

“I-I-I’m sorry?” She is baffled, hardly able to comprehend that this was a sentiment pulled from her own heart. Terrible things she could have handled, but _this_?

 

“ _The mere idea of you, the longing here for you. You’ll never know how slow the moments go, until I’m near to you.”_

 

He is gentle as brings his arm around her waist and cups the back of her head. It occurs to him that while Natasha can take what he dishes out and even welcomes it from time to time, but that does not mean she doesn’t deserve a bit of softness.

 

“Don’t apologize, it’s beautiful,” he says quietly against her lips.

 

They don’t dance, but nobody minds. Instead, Steve kisses Natasha slow and lazy, trailing his fingertips over the cool skin offered up by the low back of her dress. She shudders at the unexpected heat, a sudden flush of heat crawling down her body from head to toe. He may become addicted to the quiet way she just…melts into him, her arms relaxed around his shoulders, draped across him like an exquisitely expensive scarf.

 

Natasha tugs at the collar of his jacket. “Later,” she murmurs, in her whiskey voice “Later, when we’re all nice and relaxed and the rest of these wild animals have calmed down, I want you to play this song again, and the next time we hear it, you’ll make love to me.”

 

He tucks his chin down next to her ear, his beard long enough to be silky rather than coarse against her skin, giving his answer quietly. “All night, if you like.”

 

 

 

_“I see your face in every flower, your eyes in the stars above – it’s just the thought of you. The very thought of you, my love!”_

 

His hands linger on her bare skin for a moment after the song ends, but he does move back. Natasha looks nearly as reluctant. Once separated, she turns and crooks a finger at Tony, beckoning to him with a very keen smile. “You promised me a dance, Stark.”

 

“Uh,” Tony says dumbly.

 

Clint nudges him in the side. “Don’t wanna keep the lady waiting, Tony.”

 

Tony feels sick as he steps up across from her. His experience with Pepper after their honeymoon has given him a bit of an odd phobia with EUTERPE – even discounting his mixed associations with it in early adulthood. He was ashamed to say he was not elated to join her.

 

He swallows and approaches EUTERPE with dread. _Bye Bye Love_ , his mind whispers with horror. _No. I Hate Myself for Loving You. After the Love is Gone._ His stomach twists. _Tainted Love. All Out of Love. Love for Sale._

 

Oh, god.

 

He’d managed to work himself up so much he almost did not hear the beginning, and then he and Natasha stared at each other in silence. Dimly, Tony realized that it was Natasha’s soul speaking and what it told him was…amazing.

 

_“Sweet, wonderful you! You make me happy with the things you do! Oh, can it be so? This feeling follows me wherever I go!”_

 

Oddly, it was a song he’d heard dozens, maybe hundreds of times, but he’d never paid much attention to what it was saying, until Natasha used it to speak. _“I never did believe in miracles, but I’ve a feeling it’s time to try. I never did believe in the ways of magic, but I’m beginning to wonder why…”_

 

It isn’t a suitable beat for a waltz, but Tony, happier and happier, shows off a little by leading her through a foxtrot. Natasha giggles – he makes Natasha Romanov fucking _giggle_ – and moves with him. She is a dream as a dance partner, turning and changing directions at his lightest touch.

 

When they part, she has a delightful sparkle in her eye that Tony would gladly see put there every single day. It’s the first time that he thinks, maybe, he can do this. Maybe they belong to him and maybe he can keep them. Cheekily, he asks Natasha “Was it everything you hoped for?”

 

“Everything and more,” she answers honestly.

 

Clint hauls Bucky up by the wrist. “I was promised that I could rip you out of that suit, but I’ll settle for groping you during a dance.”

 

“You’re pretty confident you’re gonna get good music for that,” Bucky says, amused. “What if we end up with Sinatra?”

 

“No offense to Ol’ Blue Eyes, but you plus me does not Sinatra make,” Clint says firmly. “Muddy Waters, maybe. One, two, three…”

 

Bucky starts laughing. The sound is familiar in the most unlikely of ways . “Sounds like fucking church music!”

 

Right up until Clint soul howls _“You’ve got the tenderness that I been searching for! Oh-oh-oh, I want some more! You got sweet lips like I did never taste before!”_

 

They _definitely_ don’t dance. Well, Tony didn’t mind calling it dancing, but the other three certainly wouldn’t. That didn’t mean they weren’t just as happy to watch though. Clint doesn’t actually rip the suit off Bucky, but he does yank the jacket off and slide his nimble hands down the back of his trousers. They don’t dance, but they do _move_. If the gleam in Clint’s eyes doesn’t express his feelings adequately, the song does it just as well.

 

_“Everything you got, it’s just what I always wanted! Right down to a T – nothing about you don’t please me!”_

 

“Keep your legs apart,” he whispers, knowing that Bucky will be able to hear him over the music. His finger is rough and dry, and Bucky whimpers but makes no objections. “No stiff upper lips, soldier. If it hurts, say so.”

 

“ ‘s good,” he moans back. “Jesus, jesus, it’s been so long…”

 

“Yeah? Way back when?” Clint murmurs. He’s careful not to enter Bucky’s body like this. It would hurt, and the six of them have got all night to tease each other. “I seen the photos – you were such a pretty boy, those great big eyes and your sweet pink mouth. Perfect bait for a bit of rough like me.”

 

He’s not so proud or so dishonest that he can’t enjoy the soft way Bucky whines, his thighs flexing as Clint’s callouses rub over the most delicate parts of his body. Bucky is not so proud or dishonest a man that he can’t drape himself over Clint’s shoulders the way Natasha had with Steve – only rather than a delicate silk scarf, he more closely resembles a big fur coat.

 

It should be odd, but the others don’t think so – they are hypnotized by Clint’s steady focus and Bucky’s red mouth, wet and open with his low cries of “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” To Clint, his whispers “You’re not my bit of rough. You’re mine and only mine.”

 

_“I’m just a kid, and you’re a walkin’ candy store! Oh-oh-oh, I want some more!”_

 

The song’s end has both of them walking funny – their clothing was designed for dancing, not for enduring the effects of arousal. Bucky smiles his crooked Brooklyn boy aw shucks smile and makes come-hither eyes at Bruce, who laughs nervously. “I’m afraid I can’t dance, James. Two left feet.”

 

“Aw, that’s okay, doc. It can’t be worse than trying to teach Steve to dance in 1933. Two left feet _and_ he was all knees and elbows.”

 

A muffled ‘hey!’ comes from Steve, who is blushing like a neon sign of embarrassment. Natasha pats his hand, smiling like the Cheshire cat. “It’s okay, Steve. You’re just _painfully_ white.”

 

He glares. “I’m gonna kill Sam for telling you that story.”

 

Bruce shares a sympathetic smile with Steve. He still feels awkward, but at least here there are not hundreds of eyes on him. Here, it’s just five. As he stands up, Natasha slowly releases go of his hand, just as he takes Bucky’s.

 

Bucky doesn’t really know who “Nina Simone” is – he’s had other things on his mind and so he doesn’t have the slightest idea what will coming of joining his heart to Bruce’s. As predicted, Bruce concedes to him almost immediately.

 

Nina’s voice is dark and tight with fury or anguish, it’s hard to say. _“I put a spell on you, cause you’re mine.”_

 

Bucky looks disappointed. “Oh,” he says very quietly, bowing his head. “I’m sorry.”

 

Bruce gently draws Bucky’s arms around his waist. “I’m not.” He relaxes against Bucky’s shoulder. “She tries to place a spell on her lover because he cheats on her.”

 

He thinks perhaps he made a mistake when Bucky looks like he’s been slapped. “I think it’s romantic, in a sad way,” Bruce murmurs into his shoulder, gently coaxing Bucky into swaying along with him. “She nearly goes mad, is so desperate to keep his love that she tries witchcraft to keep him with her.”

_“You know better daddy. I can’t stand your runnin’ around…”_

 

A bit slyly, he adds “I take it you’re the jealous type, James?”

 

“I…no.” Bucky says quickly, then tightens his jaw and shakes his head “Yeah-yeah, I suppose. When it counts.”

 

“Thinking of dabbling in spellwork?”

 

“ _You know I love you…I love you…”_

 

“You don’t have to worry about that. I know you’re mine and only mine.”

 

Brow furrowed, Bruce replies “That’s true, but the last part might be difficult – you do know you have to share me with four other people, right?”

 

“It ain’t sharing, cause they’re all mine, too,” Bucky answers, simple and practical. After a quick kiss to the underside of Bruce’s jaw, he says “I won’t make promises about behaving myself if other people make eyes at you though.”

 

It maybe isn’t the most…well-balanced way to think of it, but he feels the same way. He doesn’t view it as ‘sharing’ either, because they are one. Belonging to all, and all belonging. “I wouldn’t worry too much,” Bruce replies, sleepy-eyed as Bucky begins tracing his fingers through the dark curls as his nape. “Natasha would gut any man who tried to touch her, Steve plays dumb whither the person is being subtle or not, and as playful and charming as they can be, Tony and Clint don’t actually like other people in their personal space.”

 

“I ‘spose that’s true. What about you?”

 

Reluctantly, Bruce mutters “I might also be the jealous type.”

 

_“Because…you’re mine!”_

\---

“Can’t sleep?” Tony asks quietly, feeling a presence just over his shoulder, dark eyes roving over the specs on his workstation.

 

He gasps softly when large muscular arms wrap around his waist, his groan inaudible to anyone without super-hearing as Steve kisses the side of his neck. “Come back to bed.”

 

“Miss me already?” Tony says, masking the sarcastic tightness in his tone with an air of playful dismissal. “Or is that super-stamina demanding another round?”

 

Like the groan, the sarcasm does not go unmissed. “Come back to bed,” Steve repeats soft and insistent, large fingers gently tracing circles over his hips.

 

“I can’t go again,” he mutters without meeting Steve’s eyes. “Wake up Natasha or Buckaroo if you want more.”

 

Softly, Steve says “Tony” like it’s a special charm, lacing their fingers together and kissing his hands. Tony shudders. “If you can’t sleep just lay down and work from the tablet. Or talk to me. But come back to the bed.”

 

Tony turns his head and stares at him, like somehow Steve is the unbalanced lunatic in this relationship. Finally, his eyes go back to whatever diagram he is currently working on. Sounding slightly bewildered and exasperated, he says “Sometimes, it’s like we aren’t even speaking the same language.”

 

 _“Ma ta tu ag lorg cara gan locht, beidh tu gan cara go deo,”_ Steve agrees, and Tony double-takes.

 

“ _What_?”

 

“Something Ma used to say. It means ‘if you're trying to find a friend without a fault, you’ll be without a friend forever’. She used to tell Buck that whenever I’d come home with a bloody nose and he’d start laying into me for getting into fights by myself.”

 

“She didn’t having anything to say about you getting into fights?” Tony asks, brow raised. 

 

“Oh, plenty. Usually ‘ _is minic a bhris beal duine a shron’._ Many a time a man’s mouth broke his nose. Basically, her way of telling me to shut up and have some sense now and then – not that I ever did.”

 

 _“O mangiar questa minestra o saltar questra finestra, Antonio,”_ Tony replies, shaking his head with a chuckle.

 

“And what’s that mean?”

 

“Something _my_ mom used to tell me. ‘Eat this soup or jump out the window’.” At Steve’s puzzled and slightly horrified expression, he explains “The Italian version of ‘take it or leave it’.” With a sigh, Tony relents “Fine. Let’s go to bed.”

 

In his bed, Bucky is curled up on the far edge around Natasha, his nose tucked into her sweet-smelling hair. On her other side is Clint, sprawled out in the middle of the bed in a spread-eagle, limbs flailing everywhere, with Bruce tucked up tight against his side, head resting on his chest.

 

Tony is frozen in the doorway when Steve lays down, his back pressed to Bruce’s. He lets the blankets rest at his waist and pats the mattress directly in front of him, inviting Tony to get in.

 

He shakes himself before walking to the edge of the bed. He does feel tired, exhausted really, and Steve presses gently on stomach, encouraging Tony to sink back against him. His eyelids close, already falling into sleep. Distantly, he can hear Steve murmur “That’s it, sweetheart. You’re so tired. Just rest with me.”

_“A ogni uccello il suo nido e bello,”_ Tony sighs.

 

To every bird, his own nest is beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You Belong to Me" by Courtnee Draper, "The Very Thought of You" by Billie Holliday, "You Make Lovin' Fun" by Fleetwood Mac, "I Want Some More" by Dan Auerbach, and "I Put a Spell on You" by Nina Simone.
> 
> I honestly have so many ideas for the smut, I may need to start a separate series of drabbles because these people are telling me about ALL THE SEX but bitch, I'm trying to write a story here!


	13. like a bridge over troubled waters

“What are you working on?” Natasha asks curiously as Tony stares at a series of holographic blueprints that FRIDAY rotates for his observation.

 

“Nothing important,” Tony says, waving the images off. “What’s up?”

 

She cocks her head and decides to deal with that statement like Steve Rogers: head first and at full speed. Taking another cue from Steve, she is careful to keep her tone curious but not accusatory. “Why did you just lie to me?”

 

For a moment, Tony freezes. “Uh…I didn’t, really.” He doesn’t tell the truth, but he chooses to be as honest as he can stand in that moment “I’m not ready to show it off just yet.”

 

To his surprise, Natasha simply nods and says “Okay.”

 

“What brings you to my humble workshop?” he asks, somewhat wryly.

 

She shrugs. “Just feeling bored. Wanna hate watch Hallmark movies and make ice cream sundaes?”

 

“There is not enough hell yes in the world. Let’s go.”

 

Tony often finds that there are moments in his life, especially lately, that feel almost like he’s either dreaming or on the greatest trip anyone has ever tripped in the whole history of tripping. He sorta expected that, apart from group events – sex, sleeping, epic battles, post-combat couch surfing – they would pretty much go about their lives just as before.

 

In some ways, that’s true. Tony stays in his workshop, making tweaks to equipment or running simulations. Bruce still spends most of his days reading or in quiet meditation, picking up whatever research subject strikes his current fancy and answering Peter’s eager questions in the lab. Steve will wake early each morning, often before the sun comes up, stretching until Sam rises to join him on a run He’ll go through drills with the New Avengers team and occasionally visits the children’s ward of the local hospitals. Bucky mostly doesn’t leave his own quarters, talking to a holographic image of Shuri and devouring everything of modern history and pop culture he can get his hands on. Clint sleeps, goes to the range, eats pizza, talks to Wanda, and watches Dog Cops. Natasha does…whatever it is that Natasha does all day, no one is really quite sure – watches terrible made for tv movies and eats a lot of ice cream, apparently.

 

The point is, he was expecting sex aplenty – at this point he could literally have it on demand given the sheer number of available partners – but not necessarily the warmth of everyday companionship. If asked whether he had been missing any part of his relationship with Pepper, he would’ve put that at the top of the list. She’d spent most of their time together frustrated with him, but her presence in his life had been a comfort when he most deeply needed it, and he’d tried his best in return to be the kind of person she deserved.

 

An hour later, the sundaes are gone, and Natasha is feeling surprisingly cuddly. She’s also trying to smother her laughter against his shoulder because Tony is losing his shit. “This is some sexist bullshit!” he complains loudly. “She should rip his dick off for that slut-shaming!”

 

Steve, Sam, and Peter come wandering in loaded with bags of takeout, enough to feed a small army – or a small group of Avengers. Sam had no idea how this whole thing was gonna shake out, but he couldn’t deny that he was happy to see even the sound of Tony and Natasha’s laughter had Steve smiling and walking lighter.

 

 They deposit their goods upon the coffee table and Steve leans over to kiss Natasha hello. “Mm, somebody’s been eating ice cream.” Then surprises Tony by moving to kiss him as well, gently flicking out his tongue across his lower lip. Natasha, at least, can feel him freeze and then shiver. “Both of you?”

 

Sam rolls his eyes. “All those months you spent trying to set him up, and you never just thought of covering yourself in hot fudge? I’m disappointed, Romanov.”

 

Natasha shrugs. “If I’d thought for even a second that would work, I’d have been all over that, Wilson.”

 

Steve’s eyes darken a little, keeping his back turned to Sam and Peter so that they can’t catch a glimpse of his expression – more for Peter’s sake, really. “That would’ve done it, yeah.”

 

Tony’s cheeks prickle with heat. While Sam’s comment had been playfully directed at Natasha, Steve’s gaze lingers long on both of them, almost as though he is imagining them with a cherry on top right now.

 

“FRIDAY, can you gather the rest of the lunatics in the asylum? Tell them it’s time for dinner.”

 

“Right away, Boss.”

\---

The fighting was intense, but most of them had rested up now, and part of that included a meal.

 

“Where the hell is Tony?” Clint asks, glancing around the table.

 

Bruce grimaces. “Still in the workshop, I think.”

 

“Do you want me to get him?” Peter asks quietly.

 

Bruce makes an effort to lighten his grim expression and smiles, shaking his head. “No, I’ll do it. He’ll just ignore FRIDAY.”

 

“Right you are, Doctor Banner,” the AI says, almost grumbling.

 

Tony hadn’t dealt with this particular battle well. The villain in question had killed a school full of children to catch the attention of the Avengers. None of them had quite come to terms with that yet but Tony had been the one monitoring the comms when it happened, a firsthand witness of the event. They didn’t feel great about leaving Tony by himself, but most of them were also hesitant about intruding when he removed himself to his workshop.

 

Bruce has far less compunctions about invading Tony’s safe place, mostly because it’s his space as well.

 

He finds Tony sitting blurry-eyed in front of a sprawling set of blueprints. Bruce glances as the works in progress, silently noting that the plans seem to be this very tower and mentally saving that piece of information for a later discussion. “Tony?”

 

“Brucie-boo!” Tony says, without his usual enthusiasm and without turning to look at Bruce. “What can I do for one of my better halves?”

 

“It’s time to wrap up for dinner,” Bruce says, making it a declarative statement of fact rather than couching it as a request or attempting to persuade him.

 

One of the first and most useful things he’d learned from watching Tony and Pepper’s relationship before it dissolved was that if Tony doesn’t want to do something, you should never leave him any hint of wiggle room. Steamrolling is the only option for someone who is absolutely shameless in their charm and avoidance of unpleasant or unwanted tasks. That being said, Bruce tries to use his powers for good– he tends not to employ it except in cases of Tony’s wellbeing.

 

Tony tries to wave him off. “I’ve got DUM-E all over it! Plenty of smoothies to get my greens in!”

 

Internally, Bruce acknowledges this attempt to dodge him and responds with “What are you working on? Maybe I can help you wrap it up so we can eat.”

 

“Um…nothing, really,” Tony replies, trying to cover up his obvious hesitation with careless charm. “Thinking of redecorating, actually.”

 

“Great! Let’s talk about color swatches,” Bruce says genially, taking his hand and when he feels a tug of resistance, he adds “I know you’re upset. I’m upset. It’s okay. Just don’t sit down here and be upset by yourself.”

 

A hitch in Tony’s breathing makes him turn and face him, expression softening in a way that makes another aborted sob escape from Tony’s throat. “They were just…they were so _little_.”

 

“Oh, _Tony_ ,” he breathes and brings his arms around his soulmate as Tony finally breaks open. “Shhhh, I know. But it wasn’t your fault, Tony. There was nothing you could have done.”

 

“We’re fucking superheroes!” he sobs “We should’ve been able to do _something_!”

 

And Bruce spoke a truth that he’d long ago had to make peace with. “We may be heroes, but we aren’t gods. The only thing we can do is try to minimize whatever damage occurs. Whatever power that controls the universe – god or fate or luck –“

 

“Thor,” Tony says, choking out a weak laugh.

 

“Or a mighty god of thunder and his trouble-making brother,” Bruce agrees, gently swiping his tears with a thumb. “We have no sway over it. Be miserable, be as miserable as you want, I don’t mind. But don’t do it by yourself.”

\---

Steve has thought about retiring many more times than people would guess, but for the longest time, he felt that the battle was the only purpose he had left. Then he needed to save Bucky, and then he became a man without a country.

 

He’s thought about retiring a few times since the group’s return to America, most of those _after_ making his matches. The “Sinister Six” Peter laughingly called them, encouraged too much by Sam and Quill. But ever since they became the Sinister Six, the idle thoughts of passing the shield to Sam became more like serious contemplations for Steve.

 

Before that, it seemed pointless not to go on fighting for as long as the world needed him. There was nothing more important to fill his time with, and Tony couldn’t seem to resist the call of battle, either. Bruce would prefer a more peaceful life, but Bucky would never leave Steve to fight alone. Clint, despite rapidly approaching his forties, also wouldn’t leave Natasha in the espionage business by herself. To be truthful, he was actually a little worried that Natasha would get bored just hanging around without any action and when she left, Clint would go with her.

 

Without Natasha bridging them together, Steve was secretly afraid that he and Tony would end up in another split, one in which Bruce would follow Tony and Bucky would again follow Steve.

 

In a way, it was a familiar life for him, just him and Bucky, but he knew that socializing had seemed to do Bucky a lot of good. And as much as he loved Bucky Barnes, Steve’s life would be a lot smaller and duller without the others.

 

But now that they were the Sinister Six – now the fighting was just an endless, exhausting chore that never seemed to go anywhere. Tony seemed to garner less and less joy from the victories and more and more sorrow from the losses. Sam, Scott, Hope, Vision, and Wanda were an excellent team, especially with Peter as back-up, and Steve had no doubts about Carol’s abilities to pull them together as a team. And…

 

And…

 

Beneath all of this was a truth that Steve didn’t really want to face.

 

All of them were humans, they were not experiments like Rocket or half-alien like Quill. Bruce could technically qualify as a mutant, but not really since he wasn’t born with the Hulk.

 

But Natasha, Clint, and Tony were ordinary, unenhanced humans. Fragile, and very mortal.

 

Natasha was in perfect physical condition, but the fights were getting larger and more dangerous and she was a close-range specialist. She couldn’t do this forever. Clint and Tony were both past forty and Clint was in danger of having arthritis in most of his body as well as tendinitis. Tony, while he was in very good physical shape, and the armor was excellent protection, the honest truth was that he was already over halfway through his natural lifespan. They could expect another thirty years with them at best.

 

Steve had no doubts that he would love them all thirty, and that they would all fight as long as they were able, but he didn’t want to waste those years grinding his team through an endless cycle of misery or shorten any of those lifespans by going on as if one-half weren’t more mortal than the other half.

 

He wanted Tony and Clint to be able to enjoy getting older without it being a life-threatening hazard. For Natasha to be able to develop hobbies and interests that had absolutely nothing to do with targeting a mark or intel gathering. For Bruce and Bucky to have the quiet existence they’ve wanted their whole damn lives. He wanted, in short, to give them time. Right now, even as they were saving lives, it felt like time he was wasting.

 

The _new_ team could do this. The world didn’t need a pair of hundred-year-old veterans, an exhausted billionaire, a nuclear scientist/rage machine, and two former secret agents. It might need heroes from time to time – but no one said it had to be _his_ soulmates.

 

Steve nods to himself, realizing now that the moment the thought came to him, he knew deep down that he would be going through with it. Having his own time would never have been enough incentive for him to rest, but he couldn’t stand the thought of wasting their years together constantly running towards the next battle.

 

At dinner, Tony finally joins them and while his eyes are red-rimmed, he does look a little better for his talk with Bruce. That, more than anything, is what decides it for Steve.

 

He will talk to them about it soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll get back to some smut and some interesting fluffy bits next chapter this is just transitioning into things I needed to mention.


	14. ...i will lay me down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the first part of this is for the fluff lovers, and the second part is for the smut addicts. (I know you bitches are here, I have no idea how such a niche fic even got so many subscriptions - y'all nasty in this fandom, I swear. I love you, but also _WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE?_ ).

Tony has had a shitty day and all he wants to do is drink.

 

He cannot do this, because he’s trying to stop, and because he made a promise to Bruce but also to Rhodey and Pepper that he’d try to take better care of himself and drinking all the scotch he can get his hands on while floating around on the rooftop pool is the opposite of that thing.

 

Normally, what he does is hide in his workshop. Some of the best work he’s ever done is while hiding out from the world, but right now he’s so unsettled that he’s frankly afraid that he’ll end up with another Ultron on his hands.

 

Instead he follows the directions of his instincts and decides to hide with one of his mates. Tony doesn’t want to stress out Bruce, he doesn’t feel comfortable going down to Natasha or Bucky’s rooms yet – mostly because _no one_ went near their rooms – and Steve’s room is so devoid of Steve’s life and personality that none of them like going into the space. (Tony is working on it, alright!)

 

The other four being ruled out, Tony opts to hide with Clint.

 

If nothing else, Clint will have pizza and a lazy dog to pet.

 

Well, he finds one of those things there. Also, it’s looking a whole lot cleaner than he remembers, which is probably Wanda’s handywork.

 

In the middle of the living room is a giant pile of cushions and pillows. In the corner, an old-fashioned record player warbles the Black Keys – either Clint really loves that band or he’s getting in touch with his inner self, it’s hard to say.

 

Bucky is sitting at the center of the cushions and…knitting?

 

“Keep the tension in the thread,” he tells Clint and the holographic form of Shuri, a loop of yarn around his finger. “But make sure you aren’t pulling too tight, you need to make sure that you can still slide the needle through the loops. Make sure you keep the tension as even as possible or the finished piece will have uneven sections that are weird and stretchy and some that look normal-ish.”

 

On the couch, Bruce and Wanda are sitting side by side and seemed to have already advanced to working on something vaguely sweater-like.

 

Peter was apparently playing old-school Mario World on the television but passed out partway through – the tv is idling on the map screen in a continuous loop, the controller on the floor beside his hand. The boy is curled around Bucky, hiding between him and the cushions as a makeshift shelter.

 

Tony eyes the scene in front of him and feels a tremor crawl up his spine. His exhausted brain wants to slide beneath their skins, dissolve into them where he will be safest. He settles for face-planting into a mound of cushions next to Clint, who chuckles. “Take a load off, Tony. Bad meeting?”

 

“The worst,” Tony mumbles.

 

He feels the pillows around him shifting as Clint leans back towards him. He smooths a hand down Tony’s back and kisses his shoulder. “Stay here for a bit and relax,” he murmurs, a gentle command as he rubs his knuckles across the tense muscles of his lower back. Another kiss, this time on his back. “I think the kid has the right idea. Take a little nap.”

 

“Mmm,” Tony sighs.

 

Clint flicks quickly through a whole row of knitting like a flash and outraged, Bucky demands “Have you known how this _whole time_?”

 

“It ain’t that hard.”

 

He sets aside yarn and needles and stretches out beside Tony, stroking skillful hands through his dark hair. By “ _Them Eyes_ ”, Tony is boneless and beginning to drift off, and at “ _No Fun_ ”, his breathing is so even and steady that Clint knows he is deeply asleep. Despite being so relaxed curled up next to Tony, he doesn’t close his eyes. He continues watching Bucky give Shuri instructions, laughing along with her when he must reteach _himself_ several of the steps on the way.

 

Shuri says goodbye when _The Big Come Up_ is over, and Wanda gestures for Clint to stay down, hissing “Don’t move – you’ll wake him up!”

 

A flick of her fingers lifts the record needle and another switches the record for _Thickfreakness_. Clint grins up at her. “Now _that_ is impressive.”

 

“You are ridiculous, _predok_ ,” she counters, though her smile is glowing.

 

Bucky also thinks that napping is a great idea and moves to shift closer to Clint and Tony but behind him, Peter whimpers as his movement causes a draft to wash over him with Bucky’s absence. “Okay, Pete, okay.” He stretches out in front of Peter, grabbing a nearby pillow to rest his head on. At Clint’s curious look, he explains “He gets upset when I leave.”

 

Almost on cue, he hears Peter give a little sniffle and Bucky pushes his shoulder blades back to close the gap between them, assuming that like young Stevie, he was cold. He hears another snuffle and Peter’s thin fingers latch onto the back of his shirt, effectively clinging to him and rumbles “You’re okay, you’re okay, shhh.”

 

Peter burrows up against his shoulders.

 

Clint reaches across the space between and gently runs his fingers over the smooth metal of his prosthetic knuckles. Their hands stay joined, fingers lacing, thumbs caressing, sweetly tracing lines and veins, and they are both asleep by “ _Have Love Will Travel_ ”.

 

Up on the couch, Bruce and Wanda continue with their projects in comfortable silence. Bruce watches them and quietly, in the back of his mind, his inner self is going through a cycle of crushing joy and soaring disbelief that his life is just…so breathtakingly beautiful.

 

Out of habit, Wanda automatically switches the record to _Rubber Factory_ with the wave of a hand when _Thickfreakness_ plays out and she holds up her work to eye the unfinished sweater with a gimlet stare, cursing in Czech. “I’ve dropped the stitch.”

 

“Give it here,” he says gently. “We can fix it.”

 

After fixing her rows, they decide to take a break and Bruce gives a small smile. “Would you like some tea?”

 

“Yes, please.”

 

Steve and Natasha walk in during _“Act Nice and Gentle”_ and what they see goes something like this:

 

Bucky is passed out on the floor in front of the television, still holding hands with Clint, who has Tony curled up against his side. And at the center of all of this…

 

“The water shouldn’t be boiling, the leaves of a green are delicate,” Bruce murmurs, pouring tea in the middle of what looks like a giant pillow fort. “Slurp it – yes, slurp, nice and loud. Take in plenty of air with the sip.”

 

Wanda giggles, but slurps as instructed, eyes closed. “It’s hmmm, it’s kind of grassy? A little bit spicy. Not like pepper, more like...oh, I don’t know, ginger?”

 

Pleased, he says, “Exactly. Very good.”

 

“Did we miss the rave?” Natasha asks mildly, looking around at all the unconscious people in the room.

 

“Where’s Peter?” Steve asks, a bit alarmed. May believes that he’s with them right now and Peter is not a child who lies – at least not for no reason.

 

Natasha taps his shoulder and points. Hidden behind Bucky’s great bulk, Peter has burrowed up against his back and is presently drooling into his shirt. At the look on Steve’s face, she snorts. He doesn’t do it out loud, but she can practically hear the “AWWW” inside his head.

 

Amused, Bruce says “You’re here just in time to join us for tea.”

 

Natasha, also very entertained, immediately plops down to the floor and sits cross-legged, accepting the cup Wanda hands her with a faint upward twitch of the lips that she’s come to recognize is her true smile.

 

Uneasily, Steve shifts from leg to leg. “Natasha, we need to talk to Tony…”

 

“No, we don’t,” she says calmly, slurping green tea. “Mm, delicious!”

 

Bruce frowns up at him. “He came down looking upset and Clint talked him into a nap. What happened?”

 

Steve glances at Natasha who ignores him, continuing to drink her tea and happily accepting a plate of apple slices from Wanda.

 

“Pepper was worried about him after the board meeting today, so she came to talk to us.” He chews his lower lip for a moment before adding “Apparently there was a bit of a bomb dropped to the senior members today. It’s only a matter of time before the press gets a hold of it.”

 

Already tired with his waffling and squirming, Natasha gives a sigh and says, “There’s a man in Connecticut who claims to be the late Howard Stark’s bastard.”

 

Shocked, Bruce and Wanda both cry “ _What_?”

 

Clearly troubled, Steve explains “A man from Stamford says that his mother was harassed by Howard during her time as a member of his Research and Development department at the Chelsea facility. She did file reports to Human Resources in 1989 regarding his behavior, but what this man – Gregory Cerrara – claims happened is…quite a bit more severe than what she reported. According to him, Howard assaulted Loni – his mother – and she quit SI immediately afterwards, giving birth to Mr. Cerrara in January of 1991. Before Howard and Maria died.”

 

Steve couldn’t say ‘the accident’ because everyone in this room knew that what happened that day was in no way accidental, but he also still couldn’t bring himself to say ‘they were killed’.

 

Wanda looks troubled. “Well…what has Loni said? Does she also say that Howard attacked her?”

 

Natasha sighs again. “That’s the other problem: Loni Cerrara passed away this summer from renal failure. Gregory claims he didn’t want to bring up painful memories for her, which is why he remained silent until her death.” She scowls “Cerrara feels that this makes him entitled to half of Tony’s inheritance. It wouldn’t be so troubling…”

 

“But Gregory Cerrara looks like Howard Stark’s ghost,” Steve finishes grimly. “More than Tony ever has. If I had come fresh out of the ice and someone told me that one of them was Howard’s son, my guess would probably be Cerrara.”

 

“So…we are assuming that Cerrara is _not_ Howard’s child?” Bruce asks slowly.

 

“It’s not that,” Tony mumbles, causing the four of them to stop and look over at him.

 

The other sleepers around the room have woken up and silently wait for him to speak as well.

 

His dark eyes stare at the ceiling and his fists clench and unclench. A soft sigh escapes him as Clint’s mouth brushes his collarbone. “If it was just that he claimed to be my half-brother I’d probably do a quiet paternity test and settle this out of court if it came back positive. But Cerrera is literally asking for _half_ _of the legal inheritance_. The board doesn’t want to deal with that because some of that involves intellectual property they won’t let out of their cold, dead hands – and a lot of people forget that Mom didn’t come to Dad a church-mouse. At least a good third of the money in my parent’s will came from Maria Lucero’s estate, and I’ll be _goddamned_ if my _mother’s_ money goes to paying off her husband’s bullshit behavior. And-and-”

 

He tries to grit is teeth, but he can’t hold it in anymore, not when he had to do it the entire meeting. “If this happened the way he says it did, then this piece of shit is using his mother’s trauma to squeeze money out of me – and he waited till she was fucking dead to do it, so she can’t even tell her own story! To him, it’s about the fucking money, but he’s going to act like this is about the suffering.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “And what really pisses me off is…Loni was never going to get justice for herself. If Howard did it, her attacker was dead anyway, and the only person she could’ve told was her rapist’s grieving child.”

 

Bucky inhales sharply. “You…you think he did it. Don’t you?”

 

As soon as it comes out of his mouth, Bucky regrets saying it out loud – he of all people has no right to speculate on Howard’s alleged misdeeds.

 

But Tony says heavily “I think the man you and Cap knew was dead and the one I knew was walking around in his skin. I can’t say if he did this or not, but I’d be lying to you if I said my father _couldn’t_ have.”

 

Natasha says, “If this story will be leaked to the media eventually, perhaps we should hold a press conference.”

 

“Yeah, I’ve already talked with Pepper about getting ahead of the story,” Tony says tiredly.

 

“As usual, Ms. Potts is full of sensible ideas,” Natasha agrees with a sly smile. “But I was not referring to the issue with Mr. Cerrera.”

 

Bucky and Clint both sit up straight. Peter is still sleepily draped across Bucky’s back though his eyes are open, and he is obviously paying attention to the conversation. Steve says “Wait, you want to announce-?”

 

“That Tony Stark is now blissfully joined to his five soulmates,” she confirms.

 

“And the purpose of that is…?” Tony asks slowly.

 

She leans toward him, a lovely and savage gleam in her bewitching green eyes. “I want to meet this man.”

 

“Jesus, Natasha, you can’t kill ‘em,” Clint says, only half-joking.

 

One of her scarlet brow’s lifts. “Who says I can’t?” She crosses her arms over her chest. “If he claims to be your brother, we ought to meet him. After all, Clint is the only one with a surviving sibling-”

 

“Unfortunately.”

 

“-and he could be our only in-law.”

 

Bucky laughs loudly, his grin full of sharp white teeth that shouldn’t be so comforting. “Yeah, yeah I like this idea. If he’s so eager to have the benefits of the Stark lifestyle, he should get used to the Avengers.”

 

“I don’t hate the idea, that’s for sure.” Abruptly, Tony sits up. “Fuck this. I’m tired of thinking about this. Let’s go upstairs – I have a surprise for you guys. Not the kiddos – you guys can see it later.”

 

Almost on cue, Wanda and Peter both yell “Aww, Tony!”

 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

 

Loud and unsubtle, Wanda whispers “They are going off to be gross now – play your jumping plumber game with me!”

 

On the elevator ride upstairs, Bruce asks mildly “Is this the project you were throwing yourself into last week?”

 

“Uh, yeah,” he admits reluctantly. “I didn’t want to say anything before it was finished. FRIDAY, take us up to Floor 201.”

 

Steve frowns. “Tony, this is _your_ tower – you know there are only two hundred floors.”

 

“Not anymore.”

 

Natasha narrows her eyes at him as they continue to ascend. “This feels like it’s moving much higher than one level above your penthouse.”

 

“Hmm,” Tony hums mysteriously.

 

The elevator doors slide open and FRIDAY murmurs “Doctor Banner, Sergeant Barnes, Agent Barton, Captain Rogers, and Agent Romanov – welcome to Floor 201 – the Joint Residence Penthouse.”

 

Bucky breathes “Holy shit.”

 

It’s bright and blue as far as the eye can see – the floor may be called 201, but Natasha was correct. Tony built it far above even the original penthouse. Above any of the other buildings even in the New York Skyline.

 

Massive panels of glass wall the entire circle that is Floor 201, the elevator entrance sitting in the center to overlook what is apparently the living room, a sunken-in spot of flooring directing in front of the elevator that features as its star piece a massive black leather couch shaped like a half-moon. The kitchen is arranged directly across from it as another slightly off-center half-moon.

 

On the other side of the kitchen appears to be a formal dining area leading into a balcony area and past the sunken area of the living room is a ramp going towards a curtained-off area they assume is either a bedroom or bathroom area.

 

“Your rooms downstairs are still yours,” Tony says, doing a rotation in front of the couch to cover his nervousness. “But the original penthouse wasn’t really…y’know, designed right for six people. The size of the bed notwithstanding.”

 

“This is amazing,” Clint whispers, staring upwards. “Look at this – this is incredible! Oh my god, Tony did you _make_ this?”

 

“I mean yeah, with FRIDAY’s image software. And a glassmaker, yeah.”

 

Above the giant sunken circle of the living room is a matching circle in the ceiling of stained glass artwork. And it’s absolutely artwork. The outer ring of the circle is a series of bow and arrows. Below that ring are a group of white wolves. The ring below that are a set of black spiders. The innermost ring looks like a set of snakes wrapped around a staff. At the very center of the circle is a glowing blue disk that resembles the arc reactor and bursting out from that reactor is a beautiful five-point star in mother-of-pearl.

 

Clint. Bucky. Natasha. Bruce. Tony. Steve.

 

“That is beautiful,” Natasha agrees, correctly interpreting his silence. “Thank you, Tony. This is a wonderful gift.”

\---

“So, are we still going through with this?” Steve asks a bit anxiously.

 

Clint, still mesmerized by the ceiling as he lounges on the couch, whispers “I dunno know if this is the right time.”

 

On the floor, Bucky has resumed knitting. “Now is the perfect time.”

 

Natasha nods “He wants to be distracted, he said so himself.”

 

Bruce sighs. “You’ve already done the hardest part purchasing supplies, Steve, there’s no point in backing out now.”

 

Clint smirks at Natasha. “How hard was he blushing?”

 

She cracks a smile. “Cooked lobster everywhere. More seriously, how do we want to play this?”

 

Bruce blinks. “I don’t think it’s too difficult to figure out, every child-”

 

“Naw, Doc.” Clint grins. “She means who goes first.”

 

Steve’s brows furrow down. “Wouldn’t you just draw straws?”

 

Bruce sighs before quietly calling “FRIDAY! Please pick a random number under ten but don’t tell us yet!”

 

“Alright,” FRIDAY responds in her soothing tone. “Got it, Doctor.”

 

Bruce immediately says “Eight.”

 

“Six.”

 

“Two.”

 

“One.”

 

“Nine.” Clint finishes.

 

As soon as Clint has finished the sequence, FRIDAY says “Sergeant Barnes has guessed correctly – the number is two.”

 

Bucky’s grin is so menacing that the others lean back a little. “Thanks, FRIDAY.”

 

Steve glances at the ceiling. “You’ll help us, right FRIDAY?”

 

The AI’s Irish brogue, so familiar to him though it’s been so long, is almost warm. “Of course, Captain.”

\---

Tony is kind of silently agonizing over his recent problems when all of the lights in his workshop suddenly shut down while he is in the middle of a project. Alarmed, he sits up, saying “FRIDAY?”

 

“Sorry, Boss.” If he didn’t know better, he’d say his AI was amused. “They’ve asked me not to interfere.”

 

“ _Who_ asked you-?”

 

The speaker system crackles as the audio switches. Tony says, “What the fuck is going on, FRIDAY?”

 

Quietly, Bruce’s voice says “Tony, we think you’ve been working too hard. We thought you might like a little break. That being said…”

 

Natasha murmurs “The domestic elevator is now locked to only access the residential floors unless FRIDAY puts the tower in emergency mode. No one will be able to escape the main floors, and no one on the lower levels can come up here until the lockdown is over.”

 

Tony is almost wondering if someone replaced them with Life Model Decoys when the audio station switches again and Bucky chuckles darkly. “I’m starting on 201. The five of you have until the count of one hundred to hide. You can run, little darlings, but it won’t do you any good. FRIDAY, if you’d be a doll?”

 

“Yes, Sergeant. One, two, three, four, five-”

 

Scrambling off his stool, Tony runs to the elevator bank, presses a random floor number and then books it to the stairwell. He passes Clint, who apparently had the same idea.

 

“Eleven, twelve, thirteen-”

 

“What the fuck is happening?”

 

“Tony, haven’t you ever played hide and seek?” He grins wickedly. “This is the real game, baby. Better hide – the big bad wolf will get you.”

 

With a whoop of laughter, Clint keeps running full-tilt towards the workshop levels.

 

Tony bursts onto Bruce’s floor, whispering “FRIDAY, what happens if I…I don’t know, if I run down to the retail levels?”

 

“That would be cheating, Boss,” she says quietly. “I would be required to immediately announce that on the tower’s intercoms, identifying your location for everyone to hear.”

 

“Ooh, that would be bad. Got it.”

\---

Bucky, despite passing Bruce and Steve’s heartbeats on his search, didn’t bother earnestly searching for them yet. He had a special prey in mind this time, but he’d be reminding them to find better hiding spots in the future.

 

“Steve, you are _barely_ tryin’,” he hisses. “Next time you need to get your shit together – unless you _want_ to get caught.”

 

“Shut up, we both know you ain’t looking for me.”

 

Natasha is far more clever with her strategies – she is on his peripheral radar, but she changes her positions too quickly for him to really get a lock on her position.

 

His real prey is found on Bruce’s floor. He pauses a moment in front of the kitchen.

 

“There you are, my lamb,” Bucky purrs, breathing deep and inhaling the scent of his sweat into his lungs, and growling “Mmm, god! You smell good enough to eat.”

 

The nearly inaudible panting of breaths as his prey tries to slowly make his way to a different position in the room. He prowls around, whispering “I can hear your little heart racing, Tony. Pounding so loud, so hard.”

 

Tony has a hand over his mouth to muffle his breaths, and he waits until Bucky does a little turn around the room before trying to sneak down the hall back towards the stairwell. The kitchen island is between them so it should be harder for Bucky to see him escaping.

 

Behind him is an honest to god snarl as Bucky leaps over the island and instinctively, Tony lets out a loud scream as Bucky grabs him by the upper arms and closes his teeth gently around the back of his neck, running him to the floor. Helpless, on his belly with his teeth pressed to his neck, Tony whimpers as Bucky relaxes his jaws and licks a hot wet stripe over the marks. “Look what I’ve caught – a tasty little lamb.”

 

Tony huffs with surprise when he’s gently turned over in the middle of the hall and Bucky sucks at his neck, wet and messy as he starts ripping Tony’s shirt away. Everything that he does is wet and messy, actually – joining his mouth to Tony’s in a kiss dripping with sexual tension, licking trails over his chest and belly, and finally, gloriously, getting his rough hand inside his pants to grip Tony’s cock and sliding mouth his over him.

 

It’s slick, sloppy, and mind-bendingly fantastic – and Bucky is relentless about it, until Tony is clutching the legs of a nearby table, legs spread, all bitten-off whimpers and moans. Bucky glances up to stare at him, stretched out above him, sweat-slicked skin and dark hair trailing down his belly. Swearing, he pulls off and yanks out a small sachet of lube from his pocket to coat his fingers. Gently biting his inner thigh, Bucky coaxes his body open. “Come on Tony, come on sweet thing. Fuck me, you’re so tight…”

 

Bucky gets a nice coordination between his mouth and his fingers going, thick fingers toying and teasing with Tony’s prostate and his mouth salivating on Tony’s cock with every slow, hot pull – until his balls are dripping with it, dripping down to his hole as Bucky fucks him patiently with his fingers. Bucky licking his own spit from Tony’s balls and sucking at his sac, tongue rubbing lovingly at the wrinkled skin.

 

Wet. Messy.

 

It’s a little disgusting actually, or it would be if Tony had two brains cells left to rub together, but he’s got one hand threaded through Bucky’s long hair and the other holding onto the table for dear life. Tony tries to fuck himself on Bucky’s fingers, shivering violently as he throws his head back and gasps out “James, James, oh-!”

 

“God,” Bucky husks, “God, _look_ at you, you’re _such_ a sexy little piece. _Ti voglio, Antonio_.”

 

Between the way Bucky flirts with his prostate and makes filthy love to Tony’s dick with his mouth, Tony is falling apart. His scalp and the soles of his feet are burning hot and his chest suddenly cold. He couldn’t stop himself from coming if he wanted to – he screams “James! Oh, god James!” so loudly that anyone on the floor (or even nearby in the stairwell) would be able hear.

 

Though he’s almost blacked out, Tony can hear Bucky shifting around, groaning “Nng, fuck!” as he gets a hand around himself.

 

Blindly, he reaches out and strokes his hand clumsily along Bucky’s cock before his muscle memory kicks in and he tightens his grip. He doesn’t mind so much that Bucky’s mouth tastes like come. Every moment away from his orgasm, more and more of Tony’s senses come back.

 

 _Ti voglio, Antonio_. I want you, Anthony.

 

That’s new. He’s been unapologetically slutty his whole life, but he doesn’t ever recall anyone calling him a ‘sexy little piece’, either.

 

Tony kisses him, slow and dirty. Bucky groans again, heartfelt and hurt-sounding, his cock pulsing in his hand. When Tony looks into his face, Bucky’s eyes are wide and entranced. “ _I tuoi occhi sono belli, tesoro_ ,” Tony murmurs, licking his lips to watch the way Bucky follows the movement. _You have beautiful eyes, darling._

 

Tony gently rakes a hand over his chest, subtly pulling him closer so that Bucky can fuck his lubed fist, kissing over his pecs. “ _Posso farti ululare, il mio selvaggio?”_ he asks, twisting his wrist hard so that Bucky throws his head back, moaning loudly. _Can I make you howl, my wild one?_

“Like that, mm, yeah, that like...” Bucky’s teeth nip his ear. “Just keep those hot hands on me, sweetheart…”

 

He does howl and it doesn’t take long. “Tony! _Si, si_! Jesus. Fucking. Christ. _Si, dolcezza_! Oh fuck…”

 

They’re both sweaty, covered in lube, jizz, and spit. Bucky is exactly as heavy as he looks and Tony could not give less of a shit. Tony kisses his sweaty hair, sighing “ _Bello, bello, bello_!”

 

Above them, the intercom crackles and Clint says “Okay…that was hot as fuck, but Tony, you’re now It, so you have to be semi-conscious in like five minutes.”

 

“You guys watched that live?!”

 

Bucky, still _not_ semi-conscious, says “FRIDAY will notify other players and live broadcast it on any television you want when someone gets caught. You can thank Natasha for that idea.”

 

“Oh, Natasha,” Tony purrs, glancing up at the nearest camera. “ _Natasha_ , the knife in my boot, the poisoned apple of my eye, the garrote at my pillow. I will thank you _any way you like_. What wine do you fancy with dinner, gentleman, because I’m thinking of a luscious, Russian _red_.”  


	15. interlude: you gotta friend in me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you handle the fluff? Huh? HUH?! CAN YOU?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last week blew, so have some happy families!

While Peter Parker is sad that Thanos and some ugly aliens leveled the city block in Queens where he and May used to live, he has to admit that living at the Avengers Tower has its perks, even if the commute was a little hellish.

 

Day One:

 

“You have everything?” May asks him anxiously, looking a bit harried as she searches the table for her keys. She looks around at the sea of faces at the breakfast table in the common floor. “Peter, do you have everything ready?”

 

Soothingly, Steve says “May, don’t worry about him, we’ll make sure he gets there okay. Just get to work – here’s your purse–”

 

“Your wallet-” Peter says, securing the square of leather into her handbag.

 

“Your phone!” Pepper says hurriedly, already on a call herself, the phone pressed to her shoulder as she strides toward the elevator. Bruce follows her out, quickly wrapping a plate of food for her to finish during the morning’s appointments and snatching a metal cannister of coffee off the counter for her.

 

“And don’t forget the keys,” Tony says cheekily, twirling them on one finger.

 

May pauses, takes a deep breath, purse in hand, and gives a bright smile to the whole assembled room. “Bye, guys!”

 

And as a whole, the room responds: “Bye, Aunt May!”

 

“Have a great first day, Pete!”

 

“Have a great first day, May!” he calls, grinning before he takes a big bite of Cheerios.

 

Tony taps the counter in front of him. “Eat something with protein in it. You’ll be hungry ten minutes after the first bell.” At Peter’s expression, he adds “Don’t ‘aw, Tony’ me, either. Jesus, I miss the days when you called me Mr. Stark. That goes for you, too, missy. Protein!”

 

Wanda laughs at his faux-stern demeanor before solemnly saying “Yes, _Tat’ka_ ” and taking a big bite of toast covered in peanut butter.

 

Twenty minutes later, Tony claps his hands enthusiastically. “Alright, my bright young minds. Are you ready to take the academic world by storm?!”

 

“Yes!”

 

“Great!” Clint says cheerfully, “Let’s go! I’m taking Lucky to the V-E-T, I’ll drop you off.”

 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Steve says. “Quick bag checks – do you have your phones, books, writing implements, and keycards?”

                                                                                               

Both students chirp “Yes!”

 

“Wanda, did you pack your lab materials?”

 

“Yes, _velitel’_ ,” she says with a small smile at all the fussing.

 

“Water bottles,” Bucky says, coming up from behind him. He hands them each a metal canteen printed with colorful patterns. “And lunches.” To Wanda, he gives a cute pink sack that she has hand-stitched her name into while Peter gets what looks like a smaller sized backpack. “Wanda, Bruce says if you feel a headache coming on, mix the paper packet into your tea thermos and drink the whole thing.”

 

At the look on his face, Steve adds “And yes, Peter, before you say anything, you _really do_ need to eat _everything_ in that bag. FRIDAY and Bruce agree that you should be following the rules of ten – ten hours of sleep, 10,000 calories, and ten glasses of liquid, _minimum_ per day.”

 

With her usual helpfulness, FRIDAY adds “Doctor Banner has calculated the contents of your lunch bag to guarantee a 5,000 calorie minimum, Mister Parker. This will ensure that you always have at least half of your daily goal met before you return home. With your breakfast, it will be roughly two-thirds met.”

 

“Cap, even I can’t eat all this during a thirty minute lunch break!”

 

“Here,” he says helpfully, handing Peter a folded slip of yellow paper. “Eat throughout the day like you normally do here and if your teacher makes comments or tries to hassle you, show them this.”

 

“We really need to leave now,” Clint calls gently from the elevator as Natasha holds onto Lucky’s leash. “Traffic is gonna be the lower levels of hell…”

 

“Have fun!” Bucky yells. “Don’t do anything we’d do!”  

 

“Fuck that – blow something up.”

 

Steve, outraged, cries “ _TONY!”_

 

The elevator doors close on Tony’s cackling laughter.

 

In underground parking, Wanda and Peter climb into the back seat while Natasha sits on the passenger side, gently crooning in Russian to Lucky until he sits between her legs and rests his head on her leg with a quiet sigh, tail thumping against the floor board. _I’ve got a smart fuckin’ dog_.

 

They drop off Wanda first, because Midtown Sci-Tech is all the way over in Queens, and NYU was still in Manhattan. “Come here,” Clint mutters as she fidgets in front of the university. Kissing Wanda’s temple, he says “You’re gonna have a great day. Take lots of notes. Meet people. And then you can come home and brag about it.”

 

If he wasn’t used to the kind of embraces Thor could give, the strength of her hug could’ve surprised him.

 

“Steve will be back to pick you up,” Natasha reminds her quietly.

 

Wanda sighs a little, clearly of the opinion that she’s a little old to be picked up at school. Natasha resists the urge to tuck Wanda’s hair underneath her hat so that her bangs will no longer be hanging in her face. Really, how can the girl expect to see the blackboard like that?

 

Clint isn’t about to start fucking crying in the middle of Manhattan – luckily, Peter is a chatterbox and provides an excellent distraction on the ride over to Queens.

 

When they drop him off, he gives Natasha a brief hug, saying “Bye, see you later!” and waving as he races toward Ned, waiting by the fence.

 

Clint laughs at the look on Natasha’s face – neutral to anyone else, but he can see the shock there. “It’s okay – you’ll get used to it.”

 

Ned, having only texted the past two months while Peter and May got settled at the Tower, is nearly vibrating with excitement. “Tell me everything!” he hisses “How is it? Is it awesome?”

 

“It’s basically amazing,” he admits with a sheepish grin.

 

“Who dropped you off? That wasn’t May.”

 

Peter grins at Ned before lowering his voice. “Clint and Natasha.”

 

The entire hallway hears him scream “NO WAY!!!!”

 

They wait for the start of first period and Ned says, “So, tell me more!”

 

“Well…” Peter chews the inside of his cheek before saying “May doesn’t have to struggle making meals anymore – Bruce or Bucky always cook. All of Bruce’s are like, weird amazing 5-star gourmet things that belong on Pinterest and Bucky’s are all like, hundred year old recipes Winifred or Sarah taught him to make.”

 

“Winifred and Sarah?”

 

“His mom and Steve’s,” Peter clarifies.

 

Ned stares at him in dazed awe. “Hulk and the Winter Soldier make you breakfast.”

 

Peter flushes, feeling a little uncomfortable now. He never thinks of them that way, he realizes. Because the room is quiet, Flash hears Ned’s excited whispering and leans over with a sneer. “There’s no way you know the Avengers, Penis Parker.”

 

“He lives in Avengers Tower,” Ned says, angrily defending him.

 

This was pretty common knowledge due to school gossip – everybody knew Peter’s home (and many others) were destroyed when Thanos tried to take Earth. Flash scoffs. “That isn’t the same thing as actually _knowing_ the Avengers.”

 

Peter doesn’t bother trying to change his mind – there are a lot of things he could say to persuade Flash that he was telling the truth.

 

Natasha does stretches and practice drills with him every afternoon. Bruce actually calculates the number of calories he needs to have in his lunch, so that Peter doesn’t spend the whole day feeling like he’s on the edge of starving. He and Sam take mugs of coffee and stroll around the farmer’s market on Saturday mornings, before the sun even rises. Miss Pepper hosts a fancy dinner on Sunday nights and gives him and Wanda a glass of wine with the meal along with the rest of the adults – “Just one for the young lady and the young gentleman.”, she’ll say with a wink. Steve will let him ride on the back of the motorcycle, sometimes going all the way upstate, just because. Whenever something has triggered his anxiety attacks, Clint lets him spend hours in his living room, playing games or just cuddling with Lucky. It doesn’t matter where he is or what he’s doing, if he feels sleepy, Bucky always seems to make the perfect pillow. And Tony will spend hours with him, making up weird experiments, bouncing through ideas with him, never seeming bored or irritated by his presence.

 

Peter could say any of these things to Flash and they would be true, but he isn’t even sure he’d share that stuff with Ned – it feels special. It feels that something that belongs only to him. He’s not all that fussed with Flash’s bullying, and honestly Peter would rather Flash go after them than someone else who’d be more vulnerable to his taunts and name-calling.

 

It isn’t until third period that he gets a teacher who minds the eating, but he hands Mr. Holst the note just the way Steve told him to. He reads the yellow paper and scowls. “Alright, Parker, you have a medical exemption. But no food during active labs!”

 

“Of course, sir.” He’ll have to remember to thank Bruce later – for the note, and the food. The smaller backpack is loaded with all kinds of things, everything from granola to turkey jerky. He’d once admitted that part of the reason he often didn’t get as much to eat as he should was that he just got tired of eating multiple helpings of the same food. Apparently, Bruce had remembered that.

\---

“You don’t need to walk me home, _velitel_ ’,” Wanda says patiently. “Even if I was attacked, I don’t like the odds for my attacker.”

 

It seems that like Clint and Tony, he is both annoying enough and endearing enough to have acquired a nickname. Steve gives her sheepish smile “Just humor an old man. I could use the fresh air anyway.”

 

“Yes, I’m sure you don’t get out of the nursing home much,” she answers, eyebrows raised. He tugs gently on the end of her braid, making her laughter echo down the street in the bright late summer sunshine.

 

He grins and hitches a thumb out at the parked cars, where the gleaming silver and blue expanse of his Harley-Davidson sits. “Feel like taking the long way home?”

 

Her large grin widens, revealing dimples in either cheeks. “Yeah.”

 

“Alright then, hang on tight.”

\---

Ten minutes before the final bell, Peter glances up from his texts to covertly show Ned the screen.

 

BUCKY:

You’re out at 2, right?

 

ME:

Yeah, why?

 

BUCKY:

I’m your ride home.

 

ME:

????

I thought Steve was…?

 

BUCKY:

Nope, Steve is Wanda’s ride home.

Took the bikes to cut through the traffic.

I’m out front when you’re done.

 

Ned covers his mouth to stop himself from yelling out to the rest of the class.

NED:

The _Winter Soldier_ is taking you _home_

on a _motorcycle_

_DUDE_

 

ME:

We just call him Bucky, Ned

Actually Sam calls him ‘yo, jackass’

 

NED:

D U D E !!!!!!!!!!!!

 

Peter grins and shakes his head, leaving Ned to his silent – and yet oddly loud – hero worship. Ned can hardly believe it, but when the final bell sounds, there is indeed a large man sitting on a motorcycle waiting near the buses. In a leather jacket and riding gloves, neither of his arms show, but Ned is willing to bet that the left one’s made of vibranium.

 

Bucky Barnes gives Peter a warm smile. “How was opening day?”

 

“Looooong,” Peter says.

 

“Is this your friend Ned?”

 

Ned Leeds almost faints “Y-yes, sir!”

 

He holds out a gloved hand. “Bucky Barnes, nice to meet you, Ned.”

  
“Th-thank you.”

 

Bucky smiles faintly at the star struck boy before turning back to Peter. “Ready to head home now?”

 

“Yep. Bye, Ned, I’ll see you tomorrow!”

 

“See ya!”

 

As he leaves for the subway station, he hears Bucky say, “Put your helmet on, I ain’t starting this engine until you do.”

 

Surreally, Ned watches Bucky help Peter tighten the straps before revving the motor and giving him a moment to get settled behind him. He yells “Hang on to me. You got it, Pete?!”

 

“Got it!”

 

Dazed, Ned watches a superhero ride off with his best friend.

\---

Day Two:

 

Peter is woken up by Bruce popping his head into his room. “Are you feeling okay?”

 

“Whazzat?” His head jerks up and he stares at him, blurry-eyed. “Huh?”

 

“Peter, May left for work half an hour ago. Did you miss the alarm?” Whimpering, Peter nods, head buried in his hands. Soothingly, Bruce says “You won’t be late, it’s okay. Just brush your teeth and put your clothes on and Steve will be waiting out here to drop you off in Queens.”

 

He scrambles to get his stuff together, only realizing that he isn’t wearing shoes when Steve gently suggests that’s a thing he might want. Bruce and Wanda have already left – Bruce reasoning that they could shorten the traveling time for Peter if he didn’t have to wait for her to be taken to school first.

 

Steve has shortened the time another way, too. “You’re pretty used to it already,” he says, handing Peter a helmet. “Just hang on – we might break a couple traffic laws on the way. Don’t tell May. Or Tony.”

 

The ride to school is great. Steve gives him a sympathetic look as he leaves him at school, squeezing his shoulder before he takes off. “Do your best, Pete.”

 

“Thanks, Cap.”

 

What is not great is realizing that he skipped breakfast to make it on time and forgot his snack-pack in the common room fridge.

 

He is absolutely miserable – his metabolism has roared through all of yesterday’s calories and frequent use of his water bottle can only help stave off the hunger for so long. By third period his stomach feels like it’s eating itself. He feels almost light-headed, and a little nauseous.

 

It’s during this period when a small hand lands on his shoulder, the same place Steve squeezed this morning. The entire class stares as the Black Widow sets a backpack in Peter’s lap. Quietly, she says “FRIDAY informed me that it was very important you have this.”

 

This is a lie: Natasha rolled out of bed, started making a smoothie will DUM-E chirped at her, saw the kit she watched Bruce carefully packing last night still sitting in the fridge and realized that Peter was probably having a Really Bad Day right now. She dressed herself in thirty seconds and ran nearly the entire length of underground parking to find her own bike, a sleeker, more modern model that represented Tony’s attempt to create vehicles that ran on arc technology.

 

She’s not going to admit to any of that, though.

 

“Ms…Romanov…” Mr. Holst says faintly. “Welcome…”

 

“Sorry, the tower informed me a residence was experiencing a medical emergency,” Natasha lies with a fake smile and a wave. “Sorry for interrupting!”

 

With a massive grin, Ned leans toward Flash, whispering “Weren’t you going to ask her out on a date?”

 

With a friendly smile that makes Peter fear for his life, Natasha turns to Flash. “Are these your friends, Peter?”

 

“Ned is my best friend and Flash is on the decathlon team with us,” Peter says slowly. If he doesn’t word this carefully, Flash Thompson is going to end up dead in a dumpster somewhere on Staten Island, he can tell by the bloodthirsty gleam in Natasha’s eye.

 

He doesn’t know how she guessed which classmate behaved the worst to him, but it’s clear that she’s sussed it out. “Great! You should bring them over to practice some time – you know that we encourage all your after-school activities.”

 

He has to cover a smile at her raised brows. Yeah, there’s a certain extra-curricular they encourage a lot, but it usually involves a lot of spandex.

 

“And you know how proud Bruce and Tony are of your participation.”

 

Flash audibly chokes. As much as he tries to act like a stereotypical ‘cool kid’, Flash is a nerd at heart. He goes to a math and science focused school. He’s on the academic decathlon team. Like most nerds, Tony Stark and Doctor Bruce Banner are men he idolizes. The knowledge that they socialize with and are apparently proud of his least favorite classmate has to be galling.

 

Of course, Natasha knows that.

 

With a last wave to the stunned classroom, Natasha waltzes out of the room, leaving Peter to chew through his energy bar through the permanent smile attached to his face.

 

‘The best revenge is living well’, after all.

 

Yeah, the commute can be stressful, but the perks just can’t be beat.


	16. utešitel'na mne sudba moja!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing will ever make me sorry about this :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title is from the Russian folk song "Dark Eyes" (Ochi Chernye), which translates to "my fate is pleasing to me!"

Before they ever made the announcement regarding the press conference, the media were already kind of foaming at the mouth about the current state of Tony’s love life.

 

It was always vaguely at the edge of their interest because Tony made no secret of the fact that he’d gone through loads of partners, and for some reason they found that fascinating, but especially lately because Pepper had filed for divorce before the marriage had even reached the two-month mark. His other mates had remained largely outside of this kind of speculation, though there were some whisperings about Sharon and Steve months ago that had died a quick death.

 

And then there was the gala.

 

While there were no photographers present at the gala dance, roughly two hundred people had seen Bruce walk right up to Bucky and give him a smooch _(“That’s not how it happened at all!” “I know, darlin’, but the story is more interesting that way._ ”) despite wild – or maybe not, really – speculations about Bucky’s relationship to Steve. They also saw Natasha, who was notorious for her vicious treatment of people who assumed they could manhandle her, not just allowing Tony to display some rather possessive body language in public but according to several accounts, actively encouraging the behavior.

 

The media ate this up, and a few weeks ago an enterprising member of the paparazzi added fuel to the fire by capturing a series of photographs while Tony and his favorite Russian went out for a walk with Wanda and Lucky in Central Park. The ‘Sinister Six’ did not generally engage in any suggestive behavior either in public or with the younger members of their party present, and during walk there were both in attendance, so in a way, the pictures were entirely innocent.

 

They were sitting at a bench, Natasha explaining how it was possible to fit eight knives and a Glock beneath a mini-skirt in the middle of Shanghai with a sly smile on her face that men the world over had seen just before they died. Wanda is on the edge of the frame, watching with a wide smile, Lucky’s leash held loosely in one hand and an ice cream cone in the other. Tony is listening to Natasha, all his attention clearly captured by her, half-laughing with his head tipped back.

 

It could be entirely innocent.

 

To most people, it would just look like three friends talking to each other in the middle of Central Park while walking a dog.

 

To anyone who knew either Tony or Natasha, it’s very clear what’s going on in those photographs. Natasha is openly flirting – not the exaggerated ploys meant to capture the eye of some minion or stooge, but the genuinely witty and kind of dorky stream of comments that comes when Natasha is actually acting like herself. And Tony? Tony is absolutely besotted by this.

 

This, Tony realizes, this is the story they’d be going with if multiple partners were still not yet recognized. Tony and Natasha were sort of the media point men for the Avengers team anyway, and that was true before they were confirmed soulmates. Getting them to catch the bait on their relationship would’ve been laughably easy.

 

Equally swift is the relief that they don’t have to do that – oh, it’s an option and it could make certain things easier, but Tony doesn’t really care about that.

 

In the early 70’s, shortly before he was even born, the United Nations declared that any attempt to forcibly separate confirmed soulmates was essentially equivalent to torture. This declaration did not specify gender difference or number of confirmed mates in a match – simply that any attempt to separate them would be considered a war crime by the U.N.

 

Certain groups in America (and other nations) tried to get around this order, arguing the beliefs of religions and the definitions of morality. The U.N., on the other hand, cited four decades of scientific behavioral research that indicated separating soulmates from each other by force or coercion often resulted in several psychological disorders: clinical depression, panic disorders, phobias, and the risk of suicide, which became appallingly astronomical.

 

Trying to ‘cure’ their attachment to a person or persons these groups would deem unacceptable was fundamentally against every way in which an individual’s mind is typically built.

 

While he wouldn’t have hesitated to marry Natasha for the sake of keeping up appearances if it would keep the others safe, Tony was glad he wouldn’t have to make that choice. Not everyone would approve of their relationship but that was alright – if Howard were still alive to disapprove of this, even that wouldn’t have bothered him.

 

At least _now_ , Tony didn’t have to worry about Natasha being held against her will until she agreed to marry just one groom while the ones who remained unchosen were dragged off to receive ‘treatment’ for their ‘disorders’, forcibly isolated from each other, likely never knowing that most if not all of them would’ve taken their own lives rather than wander around with pieces of themselves always missing.

 

The point is, Tony isn’t excited to do this conference, but he can’t say it’s on his radar of things that make him nervous For Real.

 

It’s a hell of an excellent coincidence when they get the call to assemble two hours beforehand though. He’s not about to argue with that level of great luck.  

\---

The man – lunatic – has some kind of device that appears able to induce tremors. Earthquakes. This would worrisome enough if they were not standing in the middle of Paris. “So much for the city of fucking love,” Clint grunts, eying the Cathedral of Notre Dame as the bells sway unsteadily. “Falcon, my bird-brother, we got an ETA on the assist from the gods of thunder and mindfuckery?”

 

“ETA ten-uh, no, eight minutes,” Sam answers grimly. “V says, and I quote ‘try to keep your kirtles on till then, lasses!’.”

 

Steve, braced in a doorway, replies “Gee, I think I left it somewhere over Portugal, can we make a U-turn?” The group chuckles, but there in one voice missing from the laughter that he immediately picks up on. “Natasha? Natasha are you there?” 

 

Slowly, with a seeping horror, Wanda says “She and Peter were…over there…by the hospital, helping evacuate the residents…”

 

A bit hysterically, Tony says “Oh, you mean that huge pile of rubble? That kind of ‘over there’?” He inhales sharply through his nose before barking “Spider-Man, report position!”

 

No answer.

 

“ _Matka jsi v pořádku_?” Wanda whispers, terrified. “Peter? _Slyšíš mě_?”

 

The silence is deafening, somehow pointed in the absence of all noise.

\---

Around them, Natasha can hear the sound of dust and dry wall shifting around the broken pieces of scaffolding under which she and Peter have been trapped. She can also hear Peter’s fast breathing, fingers scrabbling against the heavy layers of concrete and rebar. “Peter-” she coughs on the lungful of debris “Peter, calm down. Can you move your arms and legs?”  

 

“It’s he-heavy!” Peter gasps. Her chest clenches at how panicked he sounds. “I – I can’t breathe-!”

 

“Peter, reach forward with your right hand,” Natasha whispers and when she sees his trembling fingers, grabs onto him with her left hand, squeezing with all her might for just a moment. “Does your comm unit still work?”

 

Breathing still shaky and stilted, Peter whispers back “I don’t-I don’t think so. I fell down face-first and it might have shattered during-during the second wave…”

 

Calmly she says, “Mine is broken too.”

 

“Wh-what? How-how are we getting out?”

 

Peter is twitching with panic, and Natasha squeezes his fingers again. “James and Steve will be able to smell us. Hear my heart beating. But Peter, I need you to keep as still as humanly possible until they’re able to find us.” She breathes in, trying to filter out the dust from each breath. “Do you remember how there was that cool design in the courtyard out front?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, with all the little spirals? That was really nice.” Peter tries to focus on staying still, assuming that Natasha is trying to distract him and all too willing to fall into the distraction with her.

 

Still serene, Natasha says “That was an entrance to the Paris underground tunnels. The catacombs. My legs are trapped in one of those entrance and the rubble is the only thing keeping me from falling down into the ossuary, so you need to stay perfectly motionless and if you feel my weight pulling away from you, I need you to pull back, hard, even if it means you’ll break my arm.”

 

“I can’t break your arm!” he squeaked.

 

“You will,” she answers severely. “Peter Parker, you will absolutely break my arm if I tell you to – my other choices will likely be falling to my death or losing both of my legs. Understood?”

 

Miserably, Peter whispers “Yes, Mom.”

 

She notices it. Peter notices it, too, judging from the stricken silence that settles over them. Natasha decides to treat it like the Wanda situation and pretends not to make the connection. “They’re going to find us,” she says quietly. “Everything is going to be okay, Peter.”

 

Choking, Peter says “You just said you could lose both of your legs!”

 

“That isn’t going to happen as long as we stay right where we are.”

 

\---

“Bruce,” Clint says slowly, watching Bucky, Wanda, and Steve race toward the fallen building. “Bruce, I really, really need you to stay pink and fleshy right now.”

 

Bruce breathes in deeply. His eyes are a brilliant and beautiful emerald green. “Natasha…Peter…are…”

 

“I know, I know,” he coos, rubbing his rough palms along Bruce’s arms. “But Buck and Stevie are gonna find her and the kid. I need Banner to stay, in case they need medical attention.”

 

“Stay…” Bruce agrees, eyes flickering back and forth before shaking his head hard. “Yes, I’ll stay here.”

 

“That was so cool,” Clint whispers. “I really wish we were not having a major emergency here because that was kind of amazing.”

 

Beneath them, the ground shakes again and far below the rubble, Peter scrambles against the dirt, clutching desperately to Natasha’s hand. His chest presses hard to the ground, forcing the button on his comms device in the on position and every member of the team hears him scream “MOM! MOM! DON’T LET GO!”

 

And Natasha, groaning in pain, voice sounding weaker than desired says “Pull, Peter, pull as hard as you can…”

 

The young man sobs “I won’t let you fall, I won’t…”

 

The horrible crunch of bones grinding together, and Natasha huffs breathlessly with pain. Wanda turns and stares at Bucky and Steve, and looking frantic, simply yells “Where?!”

 

Both men prowl among the perimeter until near one of the ruined courtyards, Steve growls “Buck!”

 

In two leaps, he is beside Steve and inhales deeply. “I smell her, too. Blood. Pain.”

 

“Shut up and fucking dig,” Steve barks.

 

To his surprise, Wanda barks back _“MOVE!”_

 

With a furious jerk of her entire left arm, Wanda removes the whole of the rubble and debris, the mass of it suspended high above them. Down below, Natasha is revealed to be trapped in a cracked rivet in the ground, her legs swallowed from the mid-thigh on down. Mere feet from her, Peter grips on tightly to her left hand to keep her from slipping down the ever-widening hole, wide-eyed with terror as he tries to find something to brace onto.

 

Bucky, closer to Natasha, quickly lifts her from the perilous trap, leaving Steve to scoop up Peter so that they can both race back to safety.

 

Peter, although pale, anxious, and obviously shaken up, seems to have gotten away without much more than a few scratches. Natasha had a piece of rebar catch her in the leg, and a few of the bones in her wrist and hand have been damaged by Peter trying his best to hold her up by one hand. She is in pain but seems remarkably unruffled by this experience.

 

Bruce pronounces her ‘fine until we can get home and fix this for real’ once the rebar is removed and he wraps up her leg and wrist. Thor and Loki arrive planet-side just in time to take care of Dr. Why Was That Historic Church There Anyway?!, and they and Wanda stay behind to take care of the cleaning up. Between Wanda’s telekinetic power and the strength of both Asgardians, this chore is a breeze.

 

Thor swears ‘upon the honor of the people of Asgard!’ that Wanda will be returned to them by the next morning, New York time.

 

Tony sighs and takes a call from Pepper regarding the delayed press release – it’s not an avoidable problem, but the media outlets are grumbling and getting huffy with her. Naturally, Pepper very sweetly told them where they could shove it, but she still wants to come up with a new confirmed time slot so she doesn’t have to deal with that particular conversation again.

 

“Pepper, honey, _I don’t know_ ,” Tony sighs, aggravated. He finds himself staring at Natasha while she sleeps, just watching the motion of her chest as she keeps breathing, her eyelids flickering as she enters the REM stage. Gently, he moves a section of hair so that it’s no longer over her mouth and miraculously, she does not immediately wake up and stab him. “One of my star players is pretty much hobbled on their entire left side and I’m not talking about Buckaroo this time.”

 

From across the room, Bucky not-so-subtly flips him off. Peter is sandwiched between him and Steve, covered in a blanket and leaning heavily into Bucky’s side. They are the only people in the room warmer than himself and Bucky has been historically accommodating to Peter’s sudden naps. None of them have yet mentioned the ‘m-o-m’ incident. Peter had yelled the word while afraid for Natasha’s life and they’d all said dumber things in less serious situations. None of them would hold him to the meaning behind, no matter how surprising.

 

Frowning, Steve shifts a little closer to him, curling an arm around Peter protectively. They could have lost both Peter and Natasha in a dumb incident with an idiot scientist who didn’t understand what he was creating or what he was doing with it. Paris’s historic catacombs very nearly became Natasha’s final resting place as well.

 

He shudders at the thought of her bones becoming part of the great ossuary, just another body among the bodies of many. Bucky glances over at him, seeming to read his thoughts. “She’s alright, Steve.”

 

Clint agrees. “She’s dealt with a lot worse than a couple of small broken bones and a shallow stab wound, Steve. This is barely gonna slow her down.”

 

Steve grunts, acknowledging the statement, but his eyes do not stray from Natasha’s form, resting with her head in Bruce’s lap. Now and then, Bruce’s fingers make a check at her wrist, counting out her pulse. His eyes, they have noticed, are still a shimmering green but he does not seem in danger of becoming too large to fit the aircraft any time soon.

 

“Just…give us time to figure out how long it will take for Natasha to get back on her feet and fit to help me piss off the press, okay?”

\---

They are eating breakfast and Tony, still a bit blurry from lack of sleep, goes through the video record of the attack – partly to reassure himself that Natasha is not, in fact, dead, but watching the damage as it happens will also allow FRIDAY to analyze the cost and help to give France a reconstruction estimate with higher levels of accuracy.

 

Wanda has returned and while she looks rather pale and peaky, she seems in good spirits, leading Tony to believe that her night of work was productive and helped to cheer her a little.

 

They are at the formal dining room on the newly built floor 201 rather than the eat-in kitchen island. Natasha for the most part behaves as if nothing is wrong, but they will not cause her unnecessary agony by forcing her to climb onto a bar stool, and not even Steve is brave enough to suggest lifting her onto it.

 

The video has come to the fateful moment when they all realize that Peter and Natasha are no longer joining the conversation.

 

The thing is…FRIDAY is equipped with some of the most advanced translation software available on Earth. Tony is aware of this, in a distant manner, because of course he programmed her to do this. The others did not know this and so it’s more than a fair surprise when Wanda’s translated words pop up onto the screen, the fear naked and bare in her voice:

 

“ _Matka jsi v pořádku? Peter…? Slyšíš mě_?”

 

: _MOM ARE YOU OKAY? PETER? CAN YOU HEAR ME?:_

 

Wanda’s spoon drops right back down to the bowl, splashing both the table and the front of her shirt.

 

Peter is confused. “Why are you making such a strange face? You’ve been calling the rest of the Sinister Six ‘dad’.”

 

“Pause playback,” Tony says quietly, and all six of the adults stare at Wanda.

 

You could hear a pin drop in that room and Wanda sits like a statue, frozen in her chair with nowhere to escape to.

 

Softly, gently, Bruce says “Peter that wasn’t nice.”

 

Flushing both at the chastisement and at the realization that he’s accidentally humiliated Wanda _even more_ , Peter squeaks “I thought you already knew! She’s been doing it for months!”

 

To Wanda’s further horror, Natasha chews her toast and says “I was aware of Wanda referring to Clint and Tony this way. Anyone else is news to me.”

 

Clint and Tony both splutter “WHAT?”

 

FRIDAY, helpful Irish AI that she is, plays a clip of Clint and Wanda standing in the training center.

 

“You need to cover your rear – the team is big, but if you totally ignore everything behind you, you’re gonna end up with a knife in your back, chickabiddy,” Clint is saying, frowning at her with disappointment.

 

“Yes, _predok_ ,” Wanda mutters, hugging her knees and staring at the ground, looking nearly as scolded as she does now.

 

FRIDAY helpfully tags the section of her vocal clip “ _predok_ ” and displays a definition of the term:

 

 _predok_ [noun, formal, masculine]

- _ancestor, sire, father, forefather_

 

Clint chokes on air and Wanda sinks down in her seat, looking like she wants the Paris sinkhole to come and swallow her instead.

 

Wanda, in the kitchen and choking on her tears as she cries into Tony’s shoulder, “ _Omlouvam se, tat’ka!”_

_:I’M SORRY, PAPA!:_

 

Again, FRIDAY isolates “ _tat’ka_ ” in the clip and searches the definition.

 

 _tat’ka_ [noun, informal, childish, masculine]

- _papa, daddy, dad_

 

While sitting at the table in Clint’s room, fondly watching the way that Bruce slices each apple into precise bites and amused, she says “ _Otec_ , how did you get such neat knife skills?”

 

“Being a doctor in an alleyway can make one extremely resourceful.”  

 

 _otec_ [noun, common, masculine]

-father, dad, godfather, priest

 

On the first day of school as Steve grills them about their school supplies. “Wanda, did you pack your lab materials?”

 

“Yes, _velitel’_ ,” she answers, clearly laughing at all his fussing.

 

 _velitel’_ [noun, masculine]

- _captain, commander, daddy_

 

And just two days ago, while Bucky idly braids her hair on the couch in this very room, she makes a sleepy comment as he slides a brush through the long strands “Don’t pull on it, _samec_.”

 

“I’ll be gentle, princess, I promise.”

 

 _samec_ [noun, masculine] [pronoun, masculine]

- _male (of the species), tomcat, buck, rooster, stag, sire_

 

“That’s-that’s a hell of thing, chickabiddy,” Clint finally says, stricken, finally breaking the enormous weight of the silence over them all.

 

“Why-why didn’t you say…anything?” Steve asks, shocked. “About…anything?”

 

“Because I’m-I’m grown woman!” Wanda says miserably, with a little hiccupping sob. “My parents have been dead for half my life and I’m nineteen years old! I shouldn’t want-”

 

“I do.” Peter interrupts her and Wanda’s mouth snaps shut. “I-I barely remember the sound of my own mother’s voice but I still…”

 

Tony gently pulls Wanda against him. “Honey, I was older than you when my parents died, and I promise you, I didn’t feel old enough get along without ‘em.” A bit bleakly, he adds “Sometimes I still don’t.”

 

“My mother-” Bruce cuts himself off and swallows hard. “I never do. Never have.”

 

“I had to wait until was nearly a hundred years old to find out my parents and my little sister weren’t alive,” Bucky says quietly. “And sometimes I still wake and up and I think…”

 

“My parents were terrible people,” Clint says bluntly. “That doesn’t mean I don’t miss having a parent around.”

 

“I never even met my pops, but I was your age when Ma died. I think she could’ve died a week ago, and I wouldn’t have been any more ready," Steve confesses. 

 

“My parents are still alive,” Natasha says matter-of-factly.

 

“Natasha, I thought you were an orphan!” Tony says, surprised.

 

“The Red Room selected them as ‘donators’ before I was ever born,” she says calmly. “I’ve never actually met them, but they’re both very much alive. In fact, I believe they’re still married. No siblings, though.”

 

“You…you never met them?” Wanda repeated, looking more and more sickened and horrified.

 

“Families selected for donation had their infant removed from them at birth,” Natasha says, nodding serenely. “My parents would’ve been informed that their daughter was stillborn.”

 

“But-but- don’t they- haven’t you gone to see them? Haven’t you gone back to visit them?!” Peter asks, aghast.

 

“I have not,” she says sternly. More gently, she adds “I don’t have a place in their lives, Peter, and they’ve already done their grieving. Their daughter is dead, and the Black Widow took her from them.”

 

“No,” Clint says lowly. “No, you don’t get to do that to them. You don’t ever get done grieving something like that, Natasha.”

 

Surprised, Natasha says “Barton…?”

 

“Once upon a time,” he snarls. “there was a little shithead who knocked up his sometimes girlfriend and their baby died. I didn’t even _know_ how much I wanted him until I realized I’d already lost him. About the only thing I wouldn’t give to still have my son is one of you.”

 

“The point!” Tony says loudly, squeezing Clint's hand. “We are trying to make is that I…”

 

“We,” Steve adds.

 

“Right, right, we,” Tony says. “ _We_ aren’t actually mad about this.”

 

“Some of us are even kind of excited,” Bucky adds archly, eyeing Tony.

 

“Some might even say thrilled,” Clint says. “But it’s definitely not Tony.”

 

“Oh, not me, never,” Tony says, and uses his long sleeves – clean for once – to wipe off her face. “You don’t have to apologize, because this is so not a bad thing.”

 

Everyone having gone back to their breakfast, Natasha speaks with Peter. “We were not only referring to Wanda,” she murmurs in his ear. “But we understand that it was a stress reaction…”

 

Under his breath, Peter says “No, it wasn’t.” At her raised brows, he adds “Not just stress. But I…I feel like I’m abandoning May and my mom.”

 

Light as air, her hand lands upon his back. “I don’t think Mary or May would see it that way. But you don’t have an obligation to me, Peter.”

 

“Mom, you’re not-” he says, and shuts his mouth abruptly, realizing that he’s slipped up again.

 

“You haven’t offended me,” she says, smiling in that particular way of hers that Natasha only does with her eyes. “But now that the cat’s out of the bag, you seem to have a hard time putting it back in. You should probably talk to May before she has to hear you say it in front of her. I don't think she'd really be mad, but that's probably not something to surprise her with.”

 

“I will.” Peter does not look happy at this prospect.

 

Natasha suggests “Maybe explaining the original context during our Paris adventure will help her understand why, if it she doesn’t understand why you continue to do it.” A bit puzzled, she says “I confess, I don’t know the answer to that, either.”

 

Peter shrugs, looking at his plate of eggs. They both know that he does have the answer to that, but if he’s not comfortable giving it to her, she won’t push him yet.

\---

“What the hell are you doing here?” Tony demands, getting Bucky to look up from his twentieth round of Fruit Ninja.

 

Normally, he doesn’t enjoy games with weapons in them, but Fruit Ninja is so ridiculously harmless that there's a certain satisfaction in slicing up all the big pieces of produce.

 

Annoyed but confused by his angry tone, Bucky slowly says “Waiting…for Natalia…?” She was either getting the all clear today or she was getting another week with the bandages on. Eyeing Tony’s throbbing temples and scarlet face, he says “Tony, are you okay? You look like the reactor got put back in the hard way.”

 

Tony makes a loud, wordless sound of rage and in the doorway, Steve breathes “Buck” like he’s actively seeing a ghost.

 

Bucky stares at both of them, eyes darting back and forth like he’s at a tennis match. “Come to think of it, neither of you are looking too good,” he says standing up slowly and cautiously. “Are you both sick? Is-is something really wrong with Natalia? Bruce said it was looking great – our girl is healthy as a horse!”

 

And Steve looks at Tony and whispers “Oh my god. It worked.”

 

Tony glares at Bucky and snarls “Where’s Peter?!”

 

Truly confused now, Bucky says “Probably where he usually is while May isn’t home – with Bruce in the lab or letting Wanda beat his ass at Super Mario. Oh, god, is it something wrong with the kid?!”

 

“Where. He. Usually. Is.” Tony repeats, sounding like he is seconds from a heart attack. “Cap, you’re a _fucking_ idiot, and I am going to gut that empty-head circus strongman with a _spoon_. I don't care if he is a god!”

 

“Okay – time, time,” Bucky says sharply. “First of all – no name calling, Anthony! And secondly…I must have missed something here, because neither of you are making sense right now. Who the fuck are you talking about?!”

 

“Hey, guys,” Peter says, looking around the room. “What’s uh, what’s going on? Why is everyone so tense?”

 

Desperately, Tony chokes “Peter!” and lunges toward him.

 

In a flash, Bucky cuts him off, snarling right in his face so that Tony is forced flinch backwards. “No,” he says, baring his teeth. “ _No_ , you don’t touch my kid.”

 

Tony looks almost nauseated “ _Your_ kid? Is that what you just called him?”

 

He can feel Peter shiver with eerie fear at his back and Bucky steps closer, keeping himself in front of the boy. He gives him a smile, full of long teeth “You ain’t slow, Tony. That’s exactly what I called him.”

 

“B-Bucky,” Peter sounds a bit frightened now. “What-what’s happening?”

 

“I dunno, kiddo,” Bucky says, prowling restlessly, keeping Peter behind him and both men in his line of sight. “I think there’s something wrong with Steve and Tony. Hell,” he says, despondent, “There might be something wrong with _me_. Peter? What was happening today?”

 

“Mom-” He can actually hear the way Peter berates himself. “ _Natasha_ was getting her A-plus with the medics.”

 

“Good boy,” Bucky praises, reaching behind him blindly to ruffle his hair.

 

“I’m sorry, Sergeant Barnes,” FRIDAY says overhead. “Doctor Banner is contacting you from the lab and I believe it’s urgent.”

 

“Put him on then!” he snaps, glaring at Steve and Tony.

 

Tony still looks furious and Steve is just staring at Bucky, as though utterly enraptured by the mere sight of his face.

 

“James?” Bruce says, with a quiet intense urgency.

 

“Yes, darlin’, I am at your service,” Bucky drawls, watching the strange expressions flit over the faces of the other two men. “Please tell me you’ve got an explanation for why Steve and Tony are more nuts than a whole damn box full of crackerjacks?”

 

“I do, in fact,” Bruce says breathlessly, sounding shocked. “It’s probably why there’s a young man on my lab bench who says that he’s Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, Service Number 32557038. He is quite confident that this is Italy in the year 1943. He-he looks...unwell.”

 

“Oh, fuck that noise,” Bucky hisses, relishing the surprised look on their faces. “We are _not_ doing that shitshow all over again. What did you assholes  _DO_?!”

 

And Steve breathes “You were dust…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the original iteration of this sequel plot was a lot different in execution, but the basic premise was planned to happen since the beginning - hope to see you in part two - "i love you, baby (but i'm just a fool)"


End file.
